Unleashed Fury
by Onari
Summary: Sequel to Insomnia. AU. For days, Dean had barely woken up after 14 sleepless nights. Unfortunately, as he had recovered a little, he had begun dreaming of her every night. The thirteen-year-old girl he had killed. Hurt!Sam Angsty!Dean. And viceversa.
1. Chapter 1

**Wow, I don't even know where to start. After so long without posting, I'm so nervous. I guess part of the magic is that it always feels like the first time, especially with long stories… Because this is going to be long, I hope you bear with me.**

**And speaking of bearing with me, I have to send the biggest of hugs to Megan, my beta for the ride. I wonder why she hasn't killed me yet, despite my non-native insistence in/on hesitating with prepositions (^_^) rambling against the natural flow of the language AND messing with the speakers' marks in dialogues. I'll never thank you enough for the time you're committing to this, hon. But I can try. THANKS!**

**Okay, so this story is a sequel of my previous story **_**Insomnia**_**. I don't know if it's a good idea, really. As a reader, I know it is a pain to be told "to understand what's happening here, you're going to have to go and read this previous story with a zillion pages before you start". And yet, here I am, inflicting the same kind of torture on you. Although I think **_**Unleashed Fury **_**will be more enjoyable having **_**Insomnia**_** in mind, I've also tried to make it self-explanatory. Don't hesitate to tell me if I haven't succeeded.**

**Right, enough of stalling. I hope you guys enjoy the reading.  
**

**L xx**

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_**Unleashed fury**_

**I**

It always started the same. A road unrolling at night, his loyal Chevy's rumble enveloping him while indistinguishable music, whose beat he could not grasp, played in the background. He was alone. _Felt_ alone as if the loneliness had seeped into his bones and settled there. An anxious knot of anticipation tightened the pit of his stomach, and despite how tired he felt his pulse quickened. Somehow, he knew he needed to stop, that it was imperative. He strained to slow down, to veer to the left or to the right, to halt the car's inevitable direction, to steer it anywhere but where it was headed.

He knew what was to come; yet the fear that gripped him was as intense and incapacitating as it had been the first time.

The darkness of the deserted road seemed to engulf him, creeping inside the car and lapping at his arms, his thighs, sinking deeply into his chest. He choked on it and despite his frantic efforts, his vision blackened. All that remained was a light in the distance, rushing impossible fast to meet him. And when his vision cleared, he saw her. Her small, young face and scared bright eyes.

_No…_

Light washed over her as she stood frozen, mouth half-opened in shock, in the car's path. Dean gasped and slammed on the brakes with all his might, as he tried to turn the wheel with sheer force. His biceps tensed as he puffed a growl, but all his efforts were in vain. The scene unfolded in painful, slow motion. Yet, as much time as he had to react, he still could not do a damn thing to stop it.

_No!_

The girl cried and the terrible sound of her scream mingled with the metallic thud of her frail body wrapping around the Impala.

"NO!"

Dean bolted awake, his heart ramming against his ribcage in a sick reminder of the reverberations of the crash. His lungs burned as he panted for air, and when he swallowed he tasted copper in his mouth. The girl's cry echoed inside his skull, making him nauseous, and he opened his mouth to breathe… to puke…to let out a scream himself.

"Dean."

A warm hand came to rest on his chest, gentle and firm, grounding him in present. The cry that had been about to leave his lips escaped him in a rush, leaving him winded, but more aware of his surroundings. As the cobwebs of the nightmare faded to the edge of his consciousness, he blinked harshly to clear his vision and rein in his spinning senses. A glossy Metallica poster reflected the morning light to his right, near the window. He was tangled in his sheets, which had ended up wrapped around his legs and torso because of his struggles. The room would have been suffocating, if it hadn't been for Sam leaning over him. Solid and real.

"Sammy." Dean's voice was hoarse.

His little brother gave him a brief smile in return, barely twitching his lips in the dim light. He didn't say anything or take his hand off Dean's chest, and Dean was so stupidly grateful for it that he might have cried. That alone was evidence enough that he hadn't been totally with it to begin with. Sam could sense it, and he lingered there for a few seconds longer, until Dean managed to even out his breathing and his pulse recovered.

Eventually, Dean was finally awake and his mind processed where he was: his room, Sam's apartment. Philadelphia.

"You with me?" Sam asked with a low voice, as he withdrew his hand.

Dean rubbed at his eyes and let out a mortified groan. The clock on his nightstand announced 5:37 AM in bright red numbers. It was almost a record for him during the last three weeks. Even so, it was definitely too early to feel human.

"Did I wake you?" He muttered roughly, squinting to look at Sam.

"Nope, I was up." His brother assured him. "Want some breakfast?"

Sam got to his feet and turned his back on Dean, heading toward the kitchen as he spoke, not allowing Dean the chance to check the potential lie in his eyes. Not that he needed to see Sam's face to see that he was worried about him. As much as he hated it, Dean didn't seem capable of stopping the nightmares that plagued his sleep, and he had about the same control over Sam's concern.

At least Sam had mastered his hovering techniques, fully Dean-tailored now. He hadn't asked him how he was feeling, or what the nightmare had been about. Both questions were pointless, given that Sam could guess the answers easily.

"Dean?"

"Huh?"

"Breakfast?"

Sam still had to polish his subtlety regarding his attempts to get food into Dean, but there were worse things, he supposed. After all, Sam had taken him into his place…well, _their_ place, when Dean had been at his lowest, and he had been making a valiant effort not to be intrusive. And although it was true that he was eating and sleeping very little, it was better than it had been before, when he had not been able to sleep more than an hour and a half during two interminable weeks.

"Sure." Dean said, humoring him.

Dean wasn't really hungry, but it was the least he could do. Not only had he woken up screaming like a terrified girl, but he had also spaced out on Sam right after he had come to Dean's rescue. At least his humiliation was worth the pleased, little smile that touched his brother's lips when Dean acceded to eat.

Dean's day started as the previous ones had. They got up, had breakfast, followed by Dean letting Sam push him into a run before the younger's classes started. They had been doing variations of the same routine for the last two weeks, as soon as Dean was able to jog without keeling over at every corner. It felt good, and it helped him rebuild his strength, which made him feel even better. They would run up to the campus gym, Sam showered there and left for his morning classes, while Dean stayed and did machine work, until he ached all over, because he knew that the more he tired out during the day, the longer he would sleep at night.

At first, overexertion hadn't been necessary, as Dean had crashed, and crashed _hard_. For days, he had barely woken up, only to eat and go back to bed. His mind and body had been pushed over their limits and he needed to catch up on fourteen days of insomnia. Unfortunately, as he had recovered a little, he had begun dreaming of Lillian every night.

The thirteen-year-old girl he had killed.

Sometimes, when he was exhausted enough, the nightmares would let up until early in the morning and he would manage to get some sleep. It wasn't optimal, but it allowed Dean to function. Sam had realized this too and barely gave Dean a moment of respite, knowing it distracted Dean from his demons during the day, and it kept them at bay at night. As much as Dean wished that Sam didn't know about the nightmares, they were hard to hide when Dean kept waking up yelling in the middle of the night. Having his own room gave him some measure of privacy, and he wanted to believe that he didn't wake Sam every single time. Sometimes, he simply came to with a muffled start, too late or too early in the night, and he liked to think that Sam had remained asleep across the hallway, even though his gut told him otherwise.

Only when it got really bad did Sam come into his room to pull Dean back to reality with a gentle hand on his chest as he had done today. Dean hated feeling so needy, but the only times he had managed to go back to sleep were when his little brother had decided to stay the rest of the night in the room with him, his steadying presence by Dean's shoulder ensuring them both a few more hours of rest.

That night's bad dream had been especially nasty and not even the hours Dean spent at the college gym took his mind off the phantom feeling of the car shaking beneath him, or the haunting image of the girl in front of his headlights. Relentlessly, Sam picked him up for lunch after his classes and walked Dean around after having forced him to eat a sandwich that tasted like cardboard to Dean's dejected senses. When Sam had time to study, Dean didn't know: they spent the afternoons together, and Dean had only seen Sam sit down with his books a handful of times.

That worried Dean too, but Josh, Sam's college friend, had assured him that the youngest Winchester was doing great in class. He had only stopped attending to a couple of the courses —those in the afternoon apparently— but Josh was enrolled in those too and he passed Sam the notes every week. From what Dean had heard, it was a first for Josh actually making it to all his classes.

If he was only doing it for Sam, it meant something in Dean's book.

In appreciation of this, whenever Josh suggested going out, Dean accepted and paid for the younger man's drinks. Josh was fun, and keeping up with his vitality didn't give Dean very much time to brood. And of course, getting home slightly buzzed and absolutely wiped out for the day was a plus. Usually, going out with Josh put him down until five or six in the morning.

That day, Dean got home around midnight, hoping his night with Josh would let him sleep, but knowing it would be pushing the proverbial Winchester good luck too far for it to actually happen. Sam was still up, of course, hunched over his beloved computer, just as Dean had found him so many times before, when he had come back from another seedy bar. Only, this time, his little brother wasn't researching a hunt, and Dean hadn't been hustling for money. He found himself smiling at the surreal idea of normal, let it wash over him for a second and rode the pang of guilt out that accompanied the calmness of being established somewhere.

"Did you find out who killed Kennedy, yet?" Dean saluted.

"Do you realize that a tequila shot contest is not an actual sport?" Sam retorted, unfazed.

The older Winchester snorted, walking into the living room, and met Sam's eyes briefly as they flashed up from the screen, shooting him a quick, appraising look.

_As fine as I'm gonna be, Sammy_.

"Have you had dinner?" Sam asked. And without waiting for a response adding, "There's pasta in the kitchen."

"We had hot dogs earlier." Dean shrugged. "If Josh drinks on an empty stomach, he doesn't last more than three beers."

It was Sam's turn to snort. "Don't tell him that or he'll think you're daring him."

At Dean's mischievous smile, Sam rolled his eyes.

"Right." Sam shook his head, "My bad."

Dean smile widened, part buzz and part genuine satisfaction at the noble art of annoying his little brother. He even took the liberty of cuffing Sam on the head on his way to the bathroom. Sam predictably bitched about it, but he did so without any heat. As a matter of fact, it had been a while since the last time Dean had seen Sam so relaxed. God knew the kid had his own inner demons to fight, some of which Dean didn't understand completely.

He took his sweet time in the bathroom, still not used to the idea of having his own towels and a glass for his toothbrush. He hadn't had much to drink that night and by the time he finished washing his face, Dean was almost completely sober. It was actually for the best, because he didn't have a good memory from the last time he had gotten smashed. The damn PTSD —and, seriously, he couldn't believe he was thinking of that term being applied to him— had barely allowed Dean the reprieve of passing out, before putting him through the most sickeningly drunk night of his life.

Dean pressed the heel of his hands over his eyes and tried to shake off the memories. He thought of Sam instead and remembering their brief banter of earlier made him smile. As he dried his hands on a towel, a fleeting thought came to Dean's mind. The way Sam had asked him about dinner… He had thought it was little brother hovering but… could that have been little brother waiting up for him to share dinner?

_Aw, Sammy…_

He felt bad for not having thought of that. He and Josh had been hanging out quite a lot those last few days, and most nights when they went out, Sam stayed home. Dean hadn't given it too much thought; Sam didn't like barhopping, that was no secret. He enjoyed it sometimes of course, and he had joined them on a couple of occasions, but Dean felt that he owed Sam some space every now and then.

He certainly hoped that his brother hadn't felt excluded.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean called out, as he headed out of the bathroom, "Have _you_ eaten yet?

Sam glanced at him, half-shrugging without stopping what he was typing. The faint blush that colored his cheeks made Dean fight the urge to smile. In a way, it was nice that Sam still wanted to spend time with him, even if they had been living practically attached by the hip the last weeks. It was like being kids again; having Sam wanting to tag along with him everywhere.

"Maybe I'll have something before going to bed, after all" Dean said, changing his mind.

Sam arched an eyebrow suspiciously, but his eyes brightened under his long bangs. If he thought Dean was babying him, he didn't show it. He wouldn't even mind as long as Dean agreed to eat some spaghetti.

"I'll go heat it up…" Sam started to rise.

"I got it." Dean stopped him, with a pat to Sam's shoulder.

Dean easily maneuvered around the kitchen, preparing a light dinner for them both. He considered having another beer, but didn't really feel like drinking any more. He was starting to feel pleasantly tired and wanted nothing more but to chat with Sam a bit and then black out for as long as his mind allowed him.

Back in the living room, Sam had put away his laptop and when he tried to help Dean to carry the trays, he earned himself a shove for his troubles.

Dean's cell phone rang, interrupting their meal.

"Who is it?" Sam asked as Dean looked at the screen.

"Bobby."

Sam remained silent, but he stiffened visibly. He abandoned his pasta and, judging by the way he stared at it, it had lost its appeal. Aware of Sam's discomfort, Dean stood up with a silent sigh and put distance between them before talking with his father's old friend. He didn't know what exactly had happened between his brother and Bobby, just that it had had something to do with the deal for his soul and how Sam had managed to break it half a year ago. Dean had asked…but both men had remained tight-lipped about it, and Dean didn't feel entitled to push. It was awkward —and unpleasantly reminiscent of past times, when Sam and John were on opposite corners of the ring—, but it wasn't his fight.

"Hey, Bobby. What's up?" Dean greeted Booby, as he turned his back on his brother.

"Hey, kid. Haven't had any FBI calls in a while." Bobby's gruff voice made Dean chuckle. A glance over his shoulder at Sam confirmed that he hadn't touched his plate yet. "Everything alright?"

"Of course," Dean said smoothly, which was both a half-truth and a huge and blatant lie as far as 'alright' was concerned. But he was fine enough. "You?"

"Fine. Listen, I may need your help with a little something here. Are you working on anything?"

"No, I… " Dean paused, looking at Sam again, but his younger brother didn't make any visible sign that he was listening. He didn't need to. "I'm in Philadelphia right now."

Bobby was silent at that.

"Is Sam alright?"

"Yeah, yeah he's great." Dean answered quickly.

Sam looked up then, guessing that he had been mentioned. Dean met his eyes and gave him a tranquil smile.

_It's okay, Sam._

Sam breathed out heavily, not taking his eyes from Dean.

"You caught up there, then?" Bobby inquired.

"No…No, it's alright. Fill me in."

"It's a bit long to explain. Can you make it to my place?" Bobby asked.

Dean closed his eyes and exhaled.

"No problem." He swallowed hard and forced out a solid tone. "I'll see you soon."

Sam had returned to staring at his cooling pasta when Dean hung up and went back to the table in silence. The familiar, comfortable bickering of just minutes before had turned into a thick tension. Dean regretted it, but it was inevitable. It had felt good to stay with Sam and Dean couldn't fool himself; he had needed the time and the company to get himself together after the messy wreck he had been after New Sterling. However, he probably should have left once he had physically recovered. Staying this long hadn't been good for Sam, or for the life Dean wanted to give him. He missed his little brother like _air_ and he was okay with texting him and calling him and dropping by as often as he could, but the possibility of actually staying was a scenario neither of them needed to envision. It only made their situation now more awkward; made them both doubt their arrangement all over again.

"Is Bobby alright?" Sam asked neutrally as Dean sat down.

"Yep, he's fine… He just…" Dean hesitated, but Hell, no point in beating around the bush, right? "He's got a hunt."

Sam clenched his jaw and nodded, while his eyes jumped distractedly around the living room furniture.

"Did he tell you what it's about?"

"Not yet. He'll explain in person." Dean said, a slight grimace in his tone.

Sam nodded again, his expression a blank mask giving nothing away. Dean took a deep breath to brace himself, because he could already hear the arguments flashing through Sam's mind as clearly as if they were spoken out loud. His little brother thought Dean wasn't at 100% yet and, well, he was right. But Sam also knew he couldn't use that card to make Dean stay, because neither of them would say no if there were lives at stake, especially when a friend asked for their help.

"I'll call Josh tomorrow." Sam announced abruptly.

Dean looked over at his brother and was close to making a joke about how he really didn't think Josh would miss him to that extent, when Sam added:

"He can cover for me until exams."

"What?" Dean said, startled. "Sam, no. You…"

"I'm going with you." The younger concluded, as he rose with his plate and headed for the kitchen.

"No. You can't…" Dean stood up and followed Sam. This was exactly what he didn't want to happen. "Please, let's not do this again."

"I'm not doing anything." Sam said mulishly, "I'm going with you and we are not discussing it."

The finality in his voice took Dean by surprise, and he could feel his anger rising. However, he was used to deal with his little brother's stubbornness, especially when Dean knew he was right. Sam had a life in Pennsylvania and Dean had already monopolized it enough during the last month.

"Oh, no you don't. Of _course_ we are discussing it." Dean retorted, following Sam into the kitchen. "You've got your stuff to do here. That was the deal, remember? It hasn't changed."

"I can go with you and be back in time for the exams, Dean." Sam argued.

"That's not what I mean." Dean protested, crossing his arms

"Then what do you mean?" Sam demanded, turning around and glaring at his brother defiantly

"I…" Dean faltered, as he faced a very determined Sam, "I mean that you should stay here and…and you…"

_And you're safe. And you're happy…_

Sam sighed and his stony expression wavered, as if he could catch his brother's unspoken thoughts.

"I want to go with you, why is that so hard to understand?" Sam asked sullenly.

"Because you _don't_ hunt anymore, Sam."

Sam gaped at Dean for a few moments, hurt filtering over his face before he finally set his jaw and schooled his features into a stern expression.

"You're not going alone, Dean"

"Sammy," Dean shook his head, "I won't hunt alone, okay? I'm going to Bobby's. Don't you trust him?"

It was brief, but Dean saw a flash of emotion flickering in Sam's eyes. Nevertheless, he was sure that it wasn't about Bobby, not entirely anyway. Whatever had happened between them, Sam knew Bobby and Dean had been in touch during the months they had been apart, and he had never been against it. This was Sam worrying too much when he shouldn't be, because that was Dean's job.

"It'll be okay." Dean assured, "Sam, I promise it'll be okay. I…I can come back here after your exams, what do you say?"

Wow, that had sounding patronizing even to his ears. No wonder Sam's gaze had hardened. Dean had pushed him into a corner and what came next was Sam using his last card, no matter how cruel it was.

"I mean you're not _going_ there alone, Dean. How are you going to drive all the way to South Dakota?"

It was a low blow. Dean knew it and Sam knew it. But the younger's gaze remained steely and unapologetic, and only the guilty way he bit his lip gave away how little he had liked to say it. Dean felt stupid for having forgotten that little detail, which had left him vulnerable to Sam's attack, even if Sammy was completely right.

The truth was that Dean hadn't been able to sit at the wheel of the Impala since Lillian; just the thought of driving sent him into body-shaking panic.

Embarrassed, Dean swallowed down the hurt and betrayal of his brother throwing his weakness into his face, and turned around to stomp to his room. He heard Sam shuffle behind him, unsure and most probably wanting to call out to him, but "_fuck you, Sam"_ was all Dean could think of.

**Ooooo0ooooO**

Dean woke up abruptly, with a scream curling in his throat, and a gasp of air escaping his lips. For a few seconds he had no idea where he was, still caught in the fraying edges of the nightmare and shaken by the very real vibration and purr of the Impala. He could hear a Nickelback song humming in the background, and the music confused him, but before he could make sense of what was happening, the Impala slowed down. By the time Dean's mind cleared enough to realize that he wasn't driving, he became aware of his brother's concerned gaze on him.

"Morning." Sam greeted.

His tone was careful, reaching out cautiously, as if he was wary of Dean's mood. Dean grunted some form of acknowledgment, as he worked on keeping his racing heart inside his chest. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he supposed that the previous day's activity had finally caught up with him at some point during the uncomfortable stretch of silence that had ensued leaving Philly with Sam behind the wheel. Rubbing his eyes, Dean straightened in his seat and debated between asking what time it was, where they were or 'was I screaming when I woke up this time around?'

"Hung-over?" Sam asked, monitoring Dean and the road at the same time.

"Nah." Dean rasped. "I didn't drink that much last night."

It was the truth. Sam knew it. It was just his way of checking on Dean. The older peered out of the window: light was starting to filter through the darkness and cottony pink and orange clouds hung on the horizon. Sunrise, then.

"It's 5:10" Sam said, in response to Dean's unasked question, "We just passed Pittsburg."

Dean nodded, chewing on Sam's olive branch, while he did the math in his head; that meant he had slept close to four hours.

"Do you want me to pull over? Stretch your legs or something?" Sam asked.

Okay, point taken. He must look like crap.

"No, I'm fine." Dean rubbed his hand over his face, wiping the last of the sleep from his eyes.

Apart from fine, he was sorry for what had happened back in the apartment. Knowing Sam, he must have been beating himself up over it too. That thought prompted Dean to actually look at his brother, and noticed how tired Sam looked. Dean felt guilty at having checked out on Sam for so long. Their lifestyle had trained them to sleep while the other drove, so it wasn't like dozing off had been particularly insensitive, but giving Sam the silence treatment _before_ that had. Sam was parking his dreamed college life in Philadelphia to go hunting _for him_, and Dean would be very hypocritical if he didn't admit that if the tables had been turned, nothing in the world would have convinced him to stay behind.

Sam just had had to be harsh because...well, because when Dean got irrational it took harshness to get through to him.

"What about you?" Dean asked, in a warmer voice. "Are you tired?"

"I'm okay." Sam muttered, eyes on the road, "But I could use a cup of Joe."

"God, yes. Me too." Dean groaned.

Sam's smile spoke of relief and they both relaxed back into a more companionable silence.

When they stopped a short while later, Sam went to fetch coffee for both of them, and Dean waited leaning against the Impala's hood, musing about the unexpected job. Bobby didn't normally ask for their help, so it had to be a complicated case. He couldn't deny that it was exciting. Taking a break had felt good, better than he could have expected, but he didn't quite feel like himself when he wasn't fighting evil. Right there, beside the car, the vibrant light of the new day bathing the open road, Dean felt in control.

"What?" Sam voice's startled him.

_When the Hell had the kid gotten so fast?_

"What what?" Dean covered his jolt by scooting over on the hood to make room for his brother.

"Why are you smiling?"

"I'm not smiling."

"You are, you freak!" Sam grinned. "Here."

Dean took the Styrofoam cup Sam handed him and barely managed to balance it as a bag of M&Ms landed on his chest.

"Oh, hey! Breakfast of Champions!" Dean chirped, "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam shook his head, feigning annoyance, though he obviously appreciated that Dean had forgiven him. As peace offerings went, M&M's were as good as any. They sipped their coffees amiably, leaning against the car. A glance at the lanky silhouette of his brother by his side loosened something inside Dean. Not only was he back hunting, he was hunting _with_ Sammy.

They rested for a few more minutes, until they finished their questionable "breakfast". Sam had become pensive next to Dean, who had kept quiet in turn, waiting for Sam to speak his mind.

"You know, I was thinking…" Sam began uncertainly.

Dean threw his empty cup into a near trashcan and tilted his head towards Sam to show him that he had his attention.

"Maybe I should get a room when we get to South Dakota." The younger Winchester continued in a hesitant tone. "I don't know if Bobby..."

Dean scrutinized Sam as he trailed off, the most obvious question shining in his eyes. Dean didn't want to push, and he really didn't want to fight over it was the least he owed Sam for having saved him from Hell. Not only that, but Sam had made it out alive as well, meaning that the rest of the details hardly mattered to him. Except, of course, the rift with Bobby.

"You know, you should really give me more than that if you want me to understand you." Dean said softly.

Sam averted his eyes and swallowed.

"He's never-?"

"No, Bobby hasn't said a word. Not for a lack of me trying." Dean laughed, somewhat bitterly, "All he said was it had to be you to tell me."

Sam's throat worked as he stared at the ground. When Dean found no answers in Sam's face, he sighed in resignation.

"Anyhow, we'll get a room if you want."

Sam raised his eyes and met Dean's gaze sternly.

"Dean, you don't have to. This…whatever happened between Bobby and I does not have anything to do with you, I mean it." He said firmly.

"Sam, you are not going to sleep in a motel while I stay at Bobby's." Dean shook his head, incredulously. "That's just...that is not happening."

It was ridiculous, and as much as he understood Sam not wanting to jeopardize his relationship with Bobby, they were a team and Dean wasn't leaving his little brother alone. It wasn't sacrifice it was just common sense. Besides, it turned out that Dean didn't _want_ to let Sam go. Dean might be getting there, but he wasn't alright. A good example being him waking up close to hyperventilation, and almost freaking out prevented only by the fact that Sam had been there.

Luckily, Sam didn't realize how much Dean's entire sense of balance depended on him. The older Winchester's mind wasn't the happiest of places right now and if Dean had to stay at Bobby's without his little brother buffer between his nightmares and reality, he would fall apart the second one of Bobby's dogs so much as looked at him wrong.

"That is…" Dean continued wryly, "Unless you've gotten to like having your own room and don't want to share anymore, princess."

He was joking, but only halfway. Not being able to control his bad dreams didn't make him any less self-conscious about them. Only a day ago he had been grateful that Sam had his own room, and had a chance to sleep through Dean's distress. But now the possibility of not having him there to just _be_ _Sammy_ for him brought a nervous flutter to Dean's stomach.

"You got a point, there." Sam said mulling it over momentarily, before finally replying. "Nah, on second thought, I got used to your snoring long ago."

Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"I don't snore!"

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Oh, _puh-lease_…" Sam said and rolled his eyes distractedly as Dean gave him a playful shove.

"Come on." The older announced. "If you are done sunbathing, it's time to hit the road."

"Dean,"

"Mmm?"

"You're smiling again. And it's freaking me out."

**Ooooo0ooooO**

By the time they pulled over at the familiar junkyard, there had been silence between them for over an hour, and as soon as Sam killed the engine, it fell around them, stiflingly. They were both tired after being on the road for more than 20 hours straight, and Dean couldn't wait to get out and stretch until his very soul popped back into place. He waited, though, and met his brother's eyes sideways.

_Ready?_

Sam must have had reached some kind of inner resolution, because he nodded imperceptibly and got out of the car simultaneously with Dean. He followed his brother without hesitation, stalling only when Bobby opened the door a few feet from them in welcome.

"Bobby," Dean greeted him cordially.

"It's about damn time." The older hunter scoffed, smiling good-naturedly. "I thought there'd be a granny at the wheel."

Dean laughed as Bobby pulled him into a quick hug, and patted his friend on the back before pulling away.

"Well, almost." He joked. "Sam was driving."

Booby looked over Dean's shoulder and something in his expression shifted, tensed, and then caught. As he tracked the different emotions dancing across Bobby's eyes, Dean pulled in a deep breath and glanced over at Sam, who had halted some inches behind him and had his eyes glued to the ground, jaw working nervously.

"Sam," Bobby muttered gruffly. "I didn't expect to see you."

Sam raised his eyes towards Bobby, his expression unreadable, and Dean stiffened in automatic response. He knew consciously that Bobby wasn't a threat to them, but Sam's uneasiness made his protective instincts flare. He was starting to think the whole trip had been a bad idea, worse than he had initially suspected, as he observed the palpable tension and awkwardness between his brother and Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby." Sam said his tone vulnerable.

It made Dean's heart clench a little and he lifted his head to look at Bobby, expectantly. When the older hunter's expression broke into a smile at last, Dean rediscovered how to use his lungs.

Bobby walked towards Sam and clasped his hand warmly. Sam returned the smile, but there was something sad about it, especially in the way they both let go after a brief squeeze. It felt like something was torn between the two and Dean could only hope it was fixable.

"How's school going, kid?" Bobby asked softly.

"Alright, I guess." Sam responded vaguely.

"Well, you know Sammy, always the enthusiast." Dean chimed in, "He's doing great."

Sam shot him a mortified look, which Dean ignored, glad to be past the first ice-breaking exchanges. To reinforce his point, he patted Sam in the back and looked pointedly at Bobby.

"You gonna let us in or not?" Dean said.

Bobby locked his gaze with Dean's and the latter narrowed his eyes imperceptibly. Almost warningly.

"Of course," Bobby nodded, "Come 'on in."

Leading the way, Bobby entered the house and Dean, who hadn't taken his hand off Sam's back —not that Sam had said anything about it— encouraged his brother to follow him with a gentle push. Sam didn't look at Dean, but advanced with him. Bobby took two beers from the fridge and handed them when the brothers reached him. Already uncapped, Dean didn't doubt they had been doused with holy water, but took a gulp anyway, and watched as Sam did the same; after tilting the bottle towards Bobby as thanks. With the test passed, they all relaxed a notch.

"Alright, old man…" Dean started, as he sat down on the couch. Bobby glared at him from the opposite chair and threw a _watch it_ message in the shape of a paper ball at Dean's head. Next to him, Sam smiled, "What do we have?"

"Well, for starters, a smartass in my living room." Bobby mocked.

"Ha, ha, ha," Dean retorted. But Sam chucked softly at the jibe and Dean didn't have it in him to regret it. "Are you going to fill us in or keep on flirting?"

"Alright, alright. A man can't be welcoming anymore…"

Bobby sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. Both brothers focused on him, straightening in their seats automatically. The time of pleasantries had ended and they were about to talk business.

"Five deaths," Bobby started, "All over the last two weeks in the same town."

Sam winced slightly and Dean arched his eyebrows.

"That's a lot of deaths," the older Winchester commented.

Sam brother glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but Dean just shrugged.

"What do they have in common?" Sam asked cautiously.

Bobby scratched his bearded chin.

"Well, that's the thing. I've found no pattern to connect them." He responded, "First one was Derek Peterson, a 48 year old mechanic, died by CO2 inhalation inside his car. James Ryan, 35, youngest CEO of the city, fell off his 20th window of his office. Elena Martínez, a cop who blew her head with her .45. She was 27."

Dean lowered his gaze, picturing the image in his head despite himself, as Bobby continued.

"Paul Rossi, 54, he was doing time at the penitentiary and hung himself in his cell. And finally, Janine White, 61, slashed her wrists in her bathroom."

They all remained silent for a few minutes, processing the information.

"So…" Dean responded after a while, "Different ages, and different sexes. Hell, even different races. They all died in different ways. So other than the fact that all of them could be suicides, we've got nothing."

"Don't the police suspect anything?" Sam asked, "I mean, so many suicides in a row, it's not normal."

"Well, definitely not, but the thing is they haven't found anything weird about any of the deaths, at least separately. _And_ in some of the cases, they haven't discarded the possibility that it's murder instead of suicide."

"Maybe they all are." Sam mused aloud. "If something is pushing them to kill themselves, then it is murder. We just have to figure out how and why _those_ specific people."

Dean looked at Sam, who was frowning as he stared at his beer bottle intently.

"Any idea?" He prompted.

Sam shook his head.

_Not yet_.

Dean knew how Sam thought. His mind would run over all the possibilities, exploring them to the very end with all their potential, until they didn't pan out. Then he started over again with the next branch of reasoning, and in that regard, his patience and persistence were admirable. Dean was better in seeing the big picture, but that connection hadn't yet clicked for the case at hand.

He was looking forward to delving into and discussing the case with Sam.

"Have you talked to the families?" Dean asked Bobby.

"I checked on the executive's family first and nothing suspicious came out of it. He was a successful man and they couldn't explain why he would want to kill himself. I also ran a background check for Ms. White. She was a caring mother and grandmother of four children. Both her house and Peterson's office came back clean of EMF."

"Sulfur?" Dean asked.

Sam pursed his lips, his shoulders tensing; the same question was likely to have been on his mind, but he hadn't wanted to ask it. They had had more than enough of demons for one lifetime and weren't looking forward to dealing with more.

"Nope, all clean." Bobby assured them, "I went to Mr. Peterson's funeral too and talked to his son. Quiet kid." He commented, "It's the only case where the family actually believed it might have been a suicide. Apparently the man was a mess, heavy drinker, lived alone... My personal impression? That kid was at the end of his father's belt now and then."

Sam tensed as Dean shook his head, disgusted.

"You think it might have been him? The son...what's his name? As revenge?" Sam said grimly.

Dean looked at him attentively, then switched his attention to the senior hunter, as Bobby answered.

"Alec, and the body didn't show any signs of violence. He got inside the car on his own volition. And it still wouldn't explain the other deaths." Bobby said, frustrated. He had obviously been thinking it over long before he had called them. Taking out a stack of printed papers and notes, he added, "This is the information I've gathered about the five of them. I was hoping you would see something I'm missing."

Sam reached out for the papers first, always the geek, and leafed through them, mulling over different hypothesis. Dean waited a minute, before he held out his hand to claim the information from Sam. It was a lot to read and not even Sam was going to be able to get through it all that evening. At least not if he wanted to keep his eyes in his sockets, and a functional amount of brain cells between his ears. What Bobby needed was two extra pair of fresh eyes, not a sluggish attempt to focus on close to 50 pages that kept getting blurry under their gazes. It was one of their father's rules for research: do it only when you were well rested or you would miss something important, and all of the innocent lives out depended on the fact that time wasn't wasted.

Bottom line, Sam had driven for close to 24 hours straight, and Dean observed guiltily the weary line of Sam's shoulders and the blood-shot hue of his eyes. Knowing firsthand how crappy lack of sleep made you feel, he wasn't about to let Sam pull two all-nighters in a row.

As if in cue, Sam rubbed his face and flexed his neck in an unconscious gesture of exhaustion, and Dean met Bobby's gaze, ready to call it a night.

Apparently, Bobby had caught the vibe too, although he was watching them both with concerned eyes. Dean repressed the instinct to squirm uncomfortably, fully aware that he didn't look so hot either. The last thing he needed at the moment was another observant hunter on his case.

"Anyway," Bobby began, confirming Dean's impression. "It's been a long day for both of you, boys. Why don't you go get your stuff and unpack? We can keep talking about this in the morning."

Sam averted his eyes and laced his fingers, tensing before Dean's eyes.

"Actually," Dean intervened, "we were going to get a room in town."

Bobby frowned, about to speak, but thought better of it as his eyes slid to Sam for a split second. The older man's jaw clenched.

"We just thought it would be more convenient for you." Dean finished.

He knew it was lame, and Bobby knew it too. There really wasn't any reason not to stay with their friend as they had so many other times, other than the big elephant in the room. Dean sent a silent plea for Booby to understand and not make it a big issue.

"Bullshit, this is your home." Bobby grunted in aggravation.

_Home_.

Dean's gaze faltered at the thought and he fisted his hands over his jean-clad knees. Bobby's was home alright, or the closest thing to a home they had had for quite a long time and Dean would never forget it. He didn't know what they would have done without the seasoned hunter after their father's death, when they had showed up in his doorstep, hurting and broken in so many ways that Dean's head spun at the memory of it. Bobby had taken them in whenever they had needed it, without question or judgment, and they had greatly needed it during the previous year.

For Dean, home had always been associated with the Impala they had spent his childhood crammed into. The smell of the leathery seats, classic rock pounding. And the always-present engine rumble that reverberated through them, while Dean and his brother slept and John drove through the night. However, he admitted that Bobby's house had always _felt_ like home and giving that up hurt more than he had expected, especially for something he hadn't even realized he'd had.

When he raised his eyes again, he found Sam's on him, full of guilt, and sorrow and regret. Sam saw how _hard_ losing part of their "home" was for Dean. And, Dean could see that Sam was about to cave. For him.

Dean wouldn't have it.

_Sam_ was home, first and foremost, whether they were at Bobby's, in Philadelphia, in their car, or in any cheap motel room. It was something he had never doubted or questioned. And if Sam wasn't okay staying there, Dean wouldn't even contemplate another option.

"We'll be here first thing in the morning." Dean concluded, before Sam could intervene.

Bobby looked upset, but he didn't push the issue further, giving only a silent nod in response, before shrugging off-handedly as he said: "Don't expect me to make you breakfast, ladies."

Dean chuckled and rolled his eyes, glad that Bobby had tacitly agreed to let them go.

"Don't worry, I don't see you as the pancake type." Dean teased, as he locked his eyes with Bobby's to convey his thankfulness.

Sam hadn't said a word and when Dean looked at him, he realized that the younger hunter was rigid with tension. He knew he was the center of the situation and was probably blaming himself for it.

"Sammy."

Sam jerked his head up, and raised his eyes towards his brother, although he stopped short of Dean's gaze.

"Let's go." Dean nudged him gently.

Sam stood up, his eyes sliding to Bobby for a second, pupils welling with _sorry_ and _goodbye_, before walking out the door towards the impala. Dean waved his own farewell and apology to his friend, but Bobby stopped him with a hand on Dean's arm.

"You know you're welcome here, right?" He questioned seriously, "_Both_ of you."

"Yeah, I know." Dean flashed him a quick, tired smile. "But Bobby?"

The older hunter tilted his head, waiting for Dean to finish his thought.

"I also know that since we got here, you have not looked at Sam in the eye one single time."

* * *

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks guys! You rock. I hope you like this installment.**

**Megan, you're the best. How did that flow? ;)**

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_**Unleashed Fury**_

**II**

"So, what do you think it is?" Dean asked.

Sam had been quiet and withdrawn the whole way to the motel. After checking in, both Winchesters had gotten settled in silence, following routines as familiar as they were automatic. Dean claimed the bed closest to the door and started unpacking the weapons while Sam salted the windows and doors. The routine seemed to relax Sam, and Dean, who had done his best to respect his brother's space, was glad to see Sam plop down on his bed and lay back, limbs finally loosening over the bedspread.

"Sam?"

"Mmm?"

"What do you think it is?" Dean repeated, tired of only having his own thoughts to contend with.

Sam laced his hands over his chest and chewed on his lip.

"Could be many things. If the victims are connected somehow, it may be a spirit that chased them down for some reason. Like some kind of vengeful spirit or a curse."

"Yeah, maybe." Dean replied thoughtfully. "The suicide though, that's uncommon. Spirits aren't so sophisticated. Normally they murder their victims themselves."

"Unless they're not really suicides. For all we know, some of them could still be accidents, like the guy suffocating in his car or the CEO falling out of his window. These things happen. Maybe it's not even our kind of gig." Sam pondered.

"Do you really think that?"

"No, not in this case, but… what I mean is that we can't rule anything out yet. If nothing is connecting them and if, there is a curse around, it's gonna be a bitch to find out what they have in common."

"But we'll figure it out, Sammy. We always do." Dean said, trying to sound more certain than he felt.

Sammy picked-up on the confidence in Dean's voice and smiled in return. But his little brother still looked troubled, and Dean didn't know if it was only because he was still blaming himself for dragging Dean to the motel with him, or for something else entirely.

"You don't think…" Sam started, and then continued hesitantly. "Maybe it's something similar to what happened with Max?"

And there it was. Max had come to Dean's mind too when Bobby relayed that Derek Peterson had died inside his car, and that it was suspected that he beat his son up. However, it had only been a fleeting reflection, not a conscious consideration nor a valid theory. Apparently, Sam was taking it more seriously though. Go figure.

"You're thinking about that Alec kid?" Dean asked unnecessarily, sitting on his bed and hooking an ankle under his knee as he shuffled to settle backwards.

Dean sat against the headboard, so he could see Sam's face.

"Yeah" The younger man said dully, as he stared blankly at the white ceiling.

"Bobby said that there were no sulfur traces…" Dean protested.

"That means nothing, Max wasn't possessed. None of us-"

"The Yellow Eyed Demon is _dead_, Sam." Dean's voice left no room for debate, "It's over."

Sam considered that, as he had probably been considering it for a while now. Apparently, he still needed Dean to tell him that there was no way they were going back to that place again.

"Have you had any vision, Sam?" Dean asked to prove his point.

"No, I would have told you if I had." Sam's tone became defensive.

"Then it's _not_ the demon."

Sam nodded reluctantly, and closed his eyes. Dean rested his head back against the wall, feeling the pull of sleep in every fiber of his being. Though he felt energized and his body hummed in pure anticipation for the gig, he was truly wiped out. Although, Dean thought it might actually be convenient, because maybe, just maybe, he would be able to get a dreamless night's sleep.

And just like that, he realized he hadn't thought about Lillian for the past few hours.

The guilty recognition of this slammed into him like a punch to the gut. Instinctually, he averted his eyes from Sam and focused on the frayed blanket that was folded over the chair nearby.

"I think I'm going to take a shower." Sam announced out of the blue. He got up from his bed and headed to the bathroom, distracting Dean. He older brother noticed Sam's wavering pace. It was almost as if his sibling was already asleep and walking on autopilot. It made Dean feel even worse than he had before.

"Hey, Sammy." He said, not able to prevent himself, "I'm sorry."

Sam turned, and blinked heavy eyes at Dean questioningly.

"For what?" Sam asked dazedly.

"That you had to drive all the way here."

Sam blinked again and gazed into Dean's eyes for a long second before shaking his head.

"It's not the first time I have driven us around, Dean, no big deal."

Dean smiled sadly. _Yes, it was._ Because it wasn't only driving they were talking about.

**Ooooo0ooooO**

_ACDC played softly in the background as the Impala swallowed up mile after mile of road. It was night and he followed the beat of the song tapping his fingers on the wheel. Eyes trained on the road ahead, back tense, he somehow _knew_ it was important not to miss any note of the music, even if he couldn't quite recognize the song. He was ready, alert. He wasn't going to blow it this time._

_Then he saw her. Small, and frozen in a pool of light; his heart did a somersault. His pulse sped up and the music even seemed to beat faster and faster through his body, through his soul._

_He hit the gas. God help him, he _hit_ the gas and the car slammed against her fragile body with a sickening crash._

Dean jolted awake, banging against the headboard as if the inertia of the car crash had sent him hurtling forward. He gasped and struggled to ride out the bout of nausea that rose in his throat. It felt vividly as if the bed was still moving, and the engine was still roaring through him. He fumbled towards the bedside table, almost knocking over a small lamp in the process, and checked the time. 6:34. Which, considering that he had been too wired the night before to get to sleep before 2 AM left him…

Well, it definitely left him feeling like crap. More importantly, _where_ was Sam?

A closer look at the bedside table revealed a note from his brother, saying he had gone for breakfast. Sam probably had snuck out so he would not disturb Dean, and the latter groaned, feeling stupid, pathetic and fucking needy, all at the same time. It was the first time he had woken from this nightmare without having Sam close-by, and this time the nightmare had been different. It had been _much_ worse. Although night after night he had never managed to stop the accident from happening in his dreams, he had never willingly taken part on it. What the hell was that about? Was that his subconscious way of punishing himself for forgetting about Lillian for a couple of hours the previous day?

_Jesus, Winchester. Get over it, already…_

Maybe it wasn't so bad that Sam wasn't in the room, Dean told himself, even as he reached for his phone. His fingers found and hit speed dial number 1. Why he was doing it, he wouldn't know, but he didn't try to analyze it either.

"Hey, what's up?"

Sam's voice unknotted Dean's stomach like the lifeline he was. The older man closed his eyes and let the nausea settle. Nightmares were nightmares were nightmares…

"Dean?"

Sam was real and he was right there. Well, probably a bit further down the road, and was now beginning to sound marginally worried. Dean should have answered him already; after all, he had been the one to call.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean said, trying to put some semblance of normality into his tone.

"Something wrong?" Sam asked, his voice betraying a concern he tried to hide behind his off-handed tone.

"No…No, just-" Dean stopped and took a deep breath.

_Please Sammy, tell me that it's okay._

"Just woke up, man." He was proud that his voice didn't shake. "Where are you?"

"On my way back." Sam assured him.

_That will do_

"Give me five minutes, okay?" Sam added.

Dean nodded to himself, aware that Sam's extra-reassurance had probably been for his sake. The subtle apology in his tone also told him that Sam had actually wanted to be there before he woke up.

"Sure," Dean responded. Then groused for good measure. "I hope you got me decent coffee this time, bitch."

Sam snorted and cut the connection, grunting a comeback. Dean smiled and fell back onto the bed with a huff, a bit lightheaded after the rush. It was too much, all the attention, but as much as Dean hated feeling dependent, Sam _was_ helping. Just talking to him had made Dean feel much better. He couldn't wait for the moment when he would feel like himself upon waking up, without needing to see his reflection in his brother's eyes.

He put his face in his hands and breathed evenly, working to clear his mind now that his galloping heart had abated. He _had_ to pull himself together, this was _not_ the way to go into a hunt and he knew it. And yet, he wanted to kill something so badly it hurt. Maybe that was the key: he had to grind his teeth and hang on until he could get his hands on the son of a bitch that was behind all those deaths. Then he would give whatever it was what it deserved and he would enjoy doing it, goddammit.

Thinking of the hunt gave him the strength he needed to get out of bed. By the time Dean got out of the bathroom and was showered and clean-shaved, Sam was back with breakfast. It would have seemed like any other morning on the road, except for the fact that it wasn't even 7 in the morning and they both looked tired already.

"What have you got?" Dean asked, before Sam could comment on his phone call, or the shadows under his eyes.

Sam gave him a thorough once over and didn't seem to like what he saw. He was gracious enough, however, to keep his concern to himself, and turned to the brown paper bag instead.

"Donuts." He replied. "And coffee. I walked to town and there's a nice café in the main street."

"Dude," Dean huffed, even as he reached for the steaming cup of coffee. "How long have you been up?"

Sam scowled at him and, yeah, it hadn't been a fair question after the consideration his little brother had shown him. "A while." He shrugged his answer and busied himself with his own cup of coffee. "I wanted to check something out."

"And that would be...?" Dean prompted.

Sam hesitated, then played dumb, earning himself an eye roll from his older brother.

"Spill, Sam."

Sam mustered a weak protest, but answered anyway.

"That Alec guy, okay? He...he can't be one of us." Dean's eyes sharpened, ready to correct Sam, but the latter reformulated his response before his brother intervened, "I mean, it's not related to the demon. He's only 20."

Apparently Dean hadn't been the only one to sleep badly. Sam had had his own fears he was fighting during the night. Dean could easily picture Sam tossing and turning in bed, scared that the nightmare of the chosen kids had started again and unable to rest until he ruled it out.

"I guess that proves I was right, then." Dean drawled, curving his lips in a smile.

Sam smiled back. "I guess you were." He conceded.

Indeed, Sam did seem any less stressed than the previous night, and that was always good.

"You ready to head back to Bobby's, then?" Dean asked, finishing up his second donut.

"Actually," Sam started, "I was thinking..."

"Uh oh"

"Dean, that's getting very old." Sam said, annoyed.

"Whatever, go on."

Sam played with the rim of his nearly empty cup of coffee for a few seconds, as he was tried to sort out his thoughts and put them into words. Unlike Dean, who, most of the time, said the first thing that came to his mind.

"I don't think we have anything new for Bobby yet." Sam continued. "Other than more theories that won't pan out. I've looked over his research, though, and I think that it would be worth it if we checked one out."

Dean studied him cautiously. "Are you sure that this has nothing to do with you not wanting to go to Bobby's?"

The knowing edge of his brother's tone seemed to rile Sam.

"It's not _about_ that," Sam gritted in an _I'm not a fucking kid_ voice. After all, he had said he would work with Bobby, and Dean knew that. "Will you _listen_ to me?"

"Okay, okay," Dean backed down, "What is it?"

"The third victim, the cop? She belonged to the same station where Paul Rossi, the convict, was kept before his incarceration. Apparently, Bobby has already interviewed the girl's family, but he didn't interrogate her fellow cops. If it's something related to the police station, maybe they can tell us more."

Dean ran a hand through his hair and paced while he thought it over.

"What about the other victims? Are they connected to the station too?" The older asked.

Sam cleared his throat. "Well no, not that I could find, but this is the only kind of connection I can see between any of them."

"It's a bit weak, Sammy." Dean remarked.

"It's Sam." The younger bit back defensively. Then he deflated, "And I know it is."

"But you're right, it's worth checking out." Dean allowed, clapping Sam's back.

Sam looked up tentatively. As independent and capable as he had grown to be, and as much as he didn't _need_ Dean's approval anymore, he still _wanted_ it. Little brothers were little brothers, at five or twenty-five.

"You okay with going then?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes on Dean.

The older hunter noticed the change of tone, but just shrugged uncomfortably under Sam's gaze. His brother wasn't talking about whether he thought it would be a good lead or not, but more about something that didn't have anything to do with the case at hand. And that meant that Dean wasn't discussing it.

"Yeah, who knows." He deflected. "Maybe the rest of victims are related somehow too, and we just don't know it yet. After all, there are lots of reasons why someone could be at a police station." Even the casual way Dean said it made him wince internally.

"I could…go alone, if you want to wait at Bobby's." Sam suggested.

"No, I'll tell him we'll meet up later with what we got." Dean said firmly, looking into Sam's eyes.

The younger nodded, satisfied, and Dean clapped his hands together and straightened up.

"Now let's get this show moving."

**Ooooo0ooooO**

"Do we have a plan?" Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam heard him despite the tone; they were programmed for it. Glancing at Dean from his position at the wheel, Sam took a moment to try to reconstruct his plan.

"It'll be hard to pass as family and they won't talk to journalists, especially not about a fellow cop." The younger said.

"I'm pretty sure they aren't going to talk about a fellow cop to anyone."

"Yeah, maybe." Sam nodded. "So I was thinking…well, fellow cops."

Dean blinked at Sam. Pass as cops? Seriously? It wouldn't be the first time, sure, but it was the first time that Sam had actually suggested it. It made amused Dean, to be honest.

"That'll be a little risky. They're the real deal, Sam, and if we slip, they'll know."

"So we don't slip." Sam shrugged it off matter-of-factly.

Dean let out a laugh despite himself. "Fair enough." He said, as they parked in the station lot.

Dean wasn't sure of the last time he had walked into a police station willingly. To say that the relationship between the law and the Winchesters was strained was an understatement, which could very well make it into the top ten euphemisms of the century, next to "Sam is tall."

_Girly haired bitch._ Dean thought, looking at Sam as they walked side-by-side.

And yeah, he was mentally rambling, but no one could blame him for feeling anxious about crossing that door into a room swarming with cops —hopefully no one would if he kept his poker's face on. Because not so long ago, the FBI had wanted his head on a plate, and even more recently his detention had triggered a slaughter, courtesy of Lilith, in a place similar to this one.

Just a month ago he had committed a crime for which cops should be training their guns on him.

"Are you ready?" Sam asked softly.

The pinched look in Sam's eyes told Dean that he had probably nailed his train of thought and the older hunter grimaced.

"Of course I am. Let's do it, Starsky."

Fortunately enough, Sam didn't push it. Instead, he smiled distractedly. His focus was already on the hall of the police station: movements easy, eyes intent and mind already set on their story. He wasn't as good at improvising as Dean was, but he was a better plotter if he had time. Somehow, as coming to the police station had been Sam's idea, it went unsaid that he was calling the shots. Not that that meant that Dean wouldn't have his back.

The main hall was big and busy, and nobody noticed them at first. Scoping the room, Dean observed that a few doors lead to a few less public rooms. There was also a corridor with glass walls that looked bullet proof and led to the "authorized people only" part of the station. It was possibly the entrance for suspects and criminals. He mentally noted that their fourth victim must have walked that corridor, and felt the EMF detector in his pocket, but so far, it was quiet.

When his eyes swept to the right wing, Dean nudged Sam. The younger's eyes followed Dean's and found a little shrine with flowers, candles and two pictures of uniformed police officers: a man, Jeff McDonald, and a dark haired woman wearing a nametag reading Elena Martínez.

Sam met Dean's eyes and arched an eyebrow, silently wondering about the unknown man. Dean shrugged imperceptibly and gestured towards the first desk. A metal sign read Reception and a young, dark-skinned girl sat typing on her computer. Sam nodded and they walked in unison towards her. At their approach, she raised her eyes and flashed them a smile.

"Good morning. What can I do for you?" She asked in a polite, but detached tone.

"Hello," Sam turned his own smile on, "My name is Sam Burrows, and this is my partner, Dean Walker. We'd like to speak to your Captain."

"May I see your IDs?" The woman requested, unimpressed.

Sam's smile fell a little, though only Dean would have noticed it. The older swallowed a chuckle at the thought that if he had been the one to talk to the young receptionist, the only thing she would have asked him back wouldn't have been an ID, but his phone number. Sam must have had the same idea, judging by the mortified edge of his voice.

"Sure thing." The younger said, hiding his embarrassment behind a pleasant smile.

They both flashed their fake police IDs. The girl looked them over and half-nodded, half-shrugged in assent. Although she was quite beautiful in Dean's opinion, she didn't seem to pay a close attention to her job.

"Why do you want to see the Captain?" She inquired.

"We're police officers from Sioux Falls," Sam answered, "We heard about Elena and…"

At that, the girl looked at Sam in the eye, gaze firm and inquisitive, and the younger Winchester trailed off. Dean was about to step in, but Sam recovered soon, "We were friends of hers at the academy and we worked together at Sioux for a year before she moved."

Well, the kid had sure done his homework. Dean hadn't even known that Elena had moved. And it wasn't like him to plunge into a hunt so ill-prepared… what the hell was wrong with him?

"We just…" Sam lowered his tone, all earnest and sympathy pouring from his eyes, "We thought it would be nice to give our condolences to her colleagues here. She was…"

"She was a great cop." Dean supplied.

The girl observed them both for a second longer and finally lowered her gaze.

"I'll page Captain Elliot and see if he can receive you."

"Thanks, that'd be great." Sam backed away with relief written all across his face.

Dean patted Sam's back teasingly. "My brother, the con master." he whispered.

"Fuck you, I hate this." Sam groaned.

Dean's pat turned into a soft squeeze.

_I know, Sammy._

The younger sighed but squared his shoulders as soon as he noticed the tall, bald man who walked towards them.

"Agent Burrows, Agent Walker," the man shook their hands in turns, "I'm Captain Scott Elliott. It's very nice to meet you. I was told you knew officer Martínez."

"That's right, Captain." Sam nodded. "Nice to meet you too."

"Please come with me. Elena was an excellent colleague and we're all very affected by her loss. I'm sure the boys would like to meet you."

_Great._

Dean was sure he hadn't said it out loud, but Sam still shot him a look over his shoulder and the older Winchester glued his eyes to the ground. He was feeling anxious, no point in denying it, but he needed to be able to hide it from Sam; it was an important matter of trust that he believed that Dean was on top of his game. Despite his best intentions, though, as they crossed the door into the inner premises of the police station, the walls seemed to close in on the older hunter and he had to swallow and breathe deeply to keep his heart steady. He knew it was his guilty conscience playing tricks on him, but it felt as if all of the cops they walked by were looking at him; it felt as if all of them _knew_ and condemned him.

While this wouldn't normally bother him, the problem was that this time he believed that they were right. He shouldn't be walking those corridors; he had _no right_ to act as if New Sterling hadn't happened. As much as Sam tried to distract him, forgetting was just wrong.

God, it would be so easy to just… let go. To give himself in and let justice have its way with his sorry ass. Dean would do it if his brother wouldn't pay for it too. That and the fact that he couldn't stand the look of disappointment in Sam's eyes.

"Yeah, we couldn't believe it either when we heard," Sam was talking, apparently replying to something Scott had said, and Dean forced himself to pay attention and focus past the nervous crawling under his skin. "I mean, we had rough moments at Sioux Falls too, but she was strong, pushed through anything; never crumbled."

"Well, she was very distressed about Jeff." Captain Scott said somberly. "Her partner." He clarified.

Sam turned to meet Dean's eyes and the latter nodded. Jeff McDonald, the second picture at the wall-shrine.

_I'm with you, Sammy_.

"What happened to him?" Dean asked.

"A thug in an alley. They separated and the punk got Jeff. Elena took it hard. We just… we didn't think it was that bad." He sighed. They stopped before a screened door and could hear muffled voices inside, "This is the coffee room. I'll introduce you to some of the boys."

Upon opening the door, the "boys" turned out to be seven tough-looking South Dakota cops on duty, hunkered down with their coffee cups, who studied them warily when the Captain introduced them. Their suspicious stares made Dean want to squirm.

"Have a seat, guys, do you want some coffee?" One of them offered with a companionable smile.

"Were you tight with Elena?" asked another one.

Dean repeated to himself that it wasn't an interrogation, but as they navigated the conversation, he couldn't help feeling a growing sense of nervous claustrophobia setting in. Elena's colleagues were saddened and angered by their companion's death and they jumped on the opportunity to talk about her with far more passion than Dean had been ready to deal with.

Apparently, as the Captain had said, her partner's death had really gotten to her and after a few days, Elena had started acting strange, even crazy. She had said she heard voices and she couldn't sleep. She had had headaches so bad that she was forced to stop working and then, one morning, she shot herself without warrant or reason.

"She kept repeating that she had killed him…"

"It wasn't her fault." A cop said fiercely, "That fucking asshole got a lucky shot. Jesus, if I could get my hands on him."

The brothers looked at each other again, out of instinct. They could understand the cop's rage and frustration. They understood loss better than anyone.

"I bet he didn't feel guilty at all." Another grunted, "That son of a bitch shoots Jeff and our Elena beats herself up for it?"

"They have no damn honor. Someone should teach them to take responsibility."

"Fucking animals," the second said harshly, meeting Dean's eyes squarely,

"They should rot in Hell."

Dean's stomach flip-flopped and his heart skipped a beat. He avoided the cop's eyes, instinctively glancing in Sam's direction, even though his little brother wasn't looking at him.

"You okay there, son? You look a little green." The older officer said paternally.

Sam turned to Dean so fast he could have pulled something, with a mixture of alarm and concern in his gaze, but Dean didn't raise his eyes to meet Sam's. With everyone's attention on him, the room shrank a little more and sweat started to collect on his upper lip.

"Excuse me, guys." He mumbled roughly, standing up. "I need some air."

Sam opened his mouth, ready to say something and started to stand too, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

_Finish here, Sammy. I'll be just outside._

Sam narrowed his eyes minutely, concern evident on his face.

_Dean?_

Dean breathed in keeping the contact with his brother and then, after a brief squeeze, he let go and clumsily made his way out of the room.

"Is he okay?" He heard the first cop ask as he closed the door.

"He is fine. It's just...he and Elena were very close at the time..." Sam's voice sound controlled, holding just enough concern no sound professional.

_Good boy_, Dean thought proudly, glad that one of them could keep it together. He was light-headed, and breathing through the vicious pounding of his heart against his temples made him shaky and unbalanced. He started to walk towards the exit, almost blindly. All of the corridors looked the same and he was disoriented; on their way there he had been stupid enough to not pay attention. It had been easier to walk with his gaze lowered, focused only on Sam's back.

It was a rookie mistake that his dad would have kicked his ass for.

The thing was, Sam's wasn't there now and there was no way in _hell_ he was having a panic attack in a police station. So he started counting, slowly, from one to five, a drill that had gotten him through almost everything in his life, until he was able to pull himself together.

_Suck it up, now!_

When he finally made it to the main hall, though calmer, he was sweating and dying to hit something out of pure frustration. Instead, he stared at the picture of his victim and her partner, fists clenched, wishing he could figure out their stories just by looking into their eyes.

_What happened to you, Elena? You missed him too much? Is that it?_

"You _were_ friends, then."

The woman's voice on his right startled him, although he didn't let it show as he turned to the receptionist from earlier, who was watching him with a frown from her desk. Dean could only wonder what kind of expression he must have been wearing that would have prompted her to speak up. After all, she hadn't seemed too social before.

"She was a good friend at the academy." Dean shrugged, repeating Sam's story.

The girl nodded and held his gaze for a beat longer, with a shade of curiosity, before lowering her eyes and going back to work. The elegant line of her cheeks and mouth made Dean's muscles loosen and his belly curl suggestively. This was familiar territory and he could make up for bailing on Sam by using whatever opening he could get.

"Did you know her well, umm…" Dean fished, leaning slightly over the desk.

"Trisha." She provided.

"Trisha," Dean smiled, but not too much. After all, he was supposed to be sharing grief.

"She was a cop." Trisha shrugged.

Dean tilted his head. "It's nice to remember them, though." He commented, nodding towards the shrine.

Trisha followed his gaze, her expression barely shifted. "That? That is ridiculous. It's like…what? Now those two are saints?"

Dean arched an eyebrow. That was the most Trisha had spoken to him and, apparently, she had very clear opinions.

"More like…heroes, I guess." Dean replied.

"Whatever. It's like _suddenly_ they've done nothing wrong. And you have no idea…"

"About what?" Dean pressed.

Trisha licked her lips, looked at Dean and then averted her eyes with a shrug, losing some of her vehemence. "Elena was a cop. Surely you must know you're not angels, precisely."

Dean held her gaze as he replied with a steady voice. "Well, no one is. But you don't seem to like cops very much. Can I ask why do you work here?"

Trisha huffed a laugh and looked up again, this time with an honest smile. "Because I like justice. And cops or no cops, here I get to see it carried out once in a while." She answered firmly. "Besides, it's good money."

Dean pursed his lips and nodded, because he couldn't think of anything to say to that. Trisha was good-looking and her attitude intrigued him, but it wasn't time to try to figure her out. On top of that, his radar was well tuned, and so far she hadn't really given any sign that she may be interested. No wonder, if she thought Dean was a police officer too.

"It must be an interesting job, anyway." He tried, resetting his mind on the rest of victims. "Lots of different people coming in and out…"

"It's not a big city, but I guess so." Trisha said.

"You haven't noticed anything around, lately…Anything strange?"

The girl arched an eyebrow and shot a weird look at Dean.

"Such as?"

"I don't know, uh…" _Well done, Dean. Now let's see how do you introduce flickering lights, or static on the radios in the conversation without ending up driving her away_. "Last year at our station? We had a streak of bad luck like you wouldn't believe: everything that could break, broke. Radios went crazy, lights fused. And the cherry on the cake, people went crazy. Crime rose without any explanation. They said it was the heat and…well. It's kinda…hot here…don't you think?"

The look Trisha was giving him was beyond description, but Dean had to admit it had been the lamest thing he had said in a long, long while. If he had been in Trisha's shoes he would have pushed the red button under the desk for "Nutjob. Arrest and neutralize".

"Dean?"

"Sam!"

Dean turned at once, immensely relieved that his brother had came to the rescue just in time, and clapped the younger's back with a bit more of emotion than was due. Sam coughed in surprise and threw Dean a funny look. His little brother had probably been worried about the way Dean had left him, and not only had Sam found him trying his charms on Trisha, but he had also been received with exaggerated happiness.

"Ready to go?" Dean asked.

Sam blinked and seemed to accept he wouldn't be getting any further explanation for the moment, so he nodded in agreement. Dean nodded back and then looked at Trisha.

"Thanks for everything, Trisha. Take care of yourself."

"Bye."

And when Dean looked back as they exited, she was still shaking her head, while she moved her fingers over the keyboard at an incredible speed.

"What was that about?" Sam asked, as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Tough girl, but she didn't tell me anything new…" Dean commented, enjoying the feeling of breeze on his face as they exited the station.

"That's not what I mean." Sam countered, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye.

Dean sobered, sighed quietly and kept his eyes purposely ahead. He didn't know what to tell Sam. He had felt overwhelmed for a second, but he couldn't explain that to him.

"What have you found out?" He asked instead.

Sam clenched his jaw and averted his eyes for a few moments, most likely an attempt to control how much Dean frustrated him.

"Nothing that you didn't hear, I think. They basically explained to me the shooting: a thug shot Jeff and when Elena ran towards them, he raised his gun on her too, but she shot first, straight to the head. She tried to resuscitate Jeff, but he was already dead and the paramedics weren't able to do anything for him. She seemed fine for a few days, all things considered, and the shrinks at the department gave her the all clear, until a couple of weeks ago when she started acting delusional. You know the rest."

"PSTD?" Dean asked, disturbed to have to say it himself.

"I wish it was that simple. But Dean, there's something here."

"The EMF hasn't beeped at all."

"I know, but-" Sam paused, struggling with his words.

"I know what you mean, Sam." Dean said, then frowned when his cell phone rang and fumbled with it, "We just have to figure…Wait a sec, it's Bobby. Yeah?"

Dean felt Sam's nervous gaze on him as he spoke. The call didn't last long.

"It was Bobby," Dean repeated uselessly as he hung up. Sam rolled eyes, "We gotta go downtown."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"We have another victim."

**Ooooo0ooooO**

Dean had hoped he would be free of cops for awhile, but as they approached the crime scene ten minutes later, his hopes were crushed. Sam parked the Impala at a cautious distance and observed the agitation in studious silence. It was crawling with people and even included yellow crime tape blocking off an area. He glanced at Dean and the older shook his head lightly.

"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath.

Sam actually smiled, the moron, although it was quick and half-hearted.

"Should we get closer?" He ventured.

"Bobby must be around. He told me he was here." Dean said with an unsure shrug.

Sam nodded slowly, eyes fixed on a nosy onlooker who was being pushed aside by a uniformed officer.

"Let's go, then."

They fell into step as they strode towards the mass of curious busybodies. It didn't take long to get to the edge of the scene —they had learned that people tended to part and let you pass when you acted like you knew where you were going. As soon as they got a clear view, they shared a look. Police officers were going in and out of a regular one-floor house, and there were two empty ambulances parked nearby. A detective was on the phone, asking for a forensics team to drag his ass there pronto and everyone else inside the tape had pinched looks on their faces that spoke of a gruesome scenario.

"We'll have to come back later, when everything is calmer." Dean sighed.

"Do you think that a cop back at the station will talk to us again about this?"

"For a couple of old friends of a dead chick, we're getting quite nosy on the town's business." The older replied with a grimace. "If it was me, I'd start to become suspicious."

Besides, Dean didn't feel capable of going back to the station so soon, not that Sam needed to know that.

"Then morgue it is."

"Morgue it is," Dean agreed.

_And where the Hell is Bobby?_

They studied the scene for a while longer, hoping to see Bobby among the crowd. Then Sam nudged his brother to indicate Dean to follow his lead, as the younger turned to his left and composed a soft expression.

"Hey... Hi," Sam spoke to the woman beside him, a plump lady that seemed to be enjoying the show.

Another thing they had often proved helpful was that in terms of nosiness, there were people that chased drama just as hard as they did, only for a completely different reason. Starting with _Morbid_ and going all the way to _Fascination_. Sometimes, there were just too easy to pinpoint.

"Do you know what happened?" Sam asked, with an innocent blink.

_I'm just a passerby but I'm dying to know what went on in there. My name is Sam... I'm one of your kind._

Dean witnessed, not without admiration, how the woman considered Sam for a few seconds and then, just like that, began to talk.

_No jury would be able to resist you, bro._

The thought fell somewhat bittersweet on Dean's stomach and he had to swallow to keep the bitter part down.

"I don't know what happened exactly," the woman started, lowering her voice as if she and Sam were conspiring. So much so that his Bigfoot of a brother had to duck his head to catch the whole sentence, "But I heard that there're two bodies and that there's a lot of blood..." She cringed. "Nobody heard anything. Who could do something like that? Must have been some psycho or something…"

"So they were killed?" Dean intervened, arching an eyebrow.

That didn't fit the pattern. He and Sam shared another look, while the woman narrowed her eyes at Dean and debated between being affronted by the interruption or delighted for having doubled her audience.

"Do you know who they are?" Sam asked, before allowing the first option to crystallize in her mind.

She focused on him again, then on the house.

"That's Julie Hamilton's house. She lives there with her boyfriend Ronald. Or lived... oh, my goodness, it's terrible. They were such a lovely couple..."

Sam nodded sympathetically, although he was glancing at Dean out of the corner of his eye. The woman's testimony, although it was informative and certainly heart-felt, wasn't helping. They needed to get in there and figure out what was going-

"Dean! Sam!"

Bobby's call reached them from somewhere _inside_ the police tape. The brothers frowned and tried to locate the familiar voice, but it took them a minute to realize that the well groomed, confident man that approached them in a dark suit, was no other than Bobby Singer.

"What the..." Dean muttered.

He could count the times in his life that he had seen Bobby without his trusted cap, let alone dressed in a suit and, Jesus Christ, had he really shaved? The shock was so intense that he didn't even think about laughing.

"Boys, come on in."

Bobby motioned to them to cross the tape, but at first they didn't react. Next to Sam, the woman was giving them weird looks, somewhere in-between suspicious and envious at the same time. It was Dean who unfroze first and ducked under the tape as if he knew exactly why he was entitled to, then lingered where he was until Sam followed. It was a die-hard habit to keep close when he and Sam crossed some kind of uneven or tricky terrain, to reach out if he stumbled, picked up from years of having a younger, clumsier version of his little brother trailing behind him. It was just a reflexive move: it was they way _they_ moved, and Dean didn't really give it any thought.

"Follow me," Bobby ordered.

Dean raised an eyebrow at his friend's firm no-nonsense tone and slid his eyes towards his brother's, who shrugged in response. Sam's expression was blank and controlled and gave nothing away. Dean sighed internally: Sam had now taken to not even trying to look Bobby in the eye.

_Awesome._

Sooner or later, all that was going to have to stop.

"They're with me." Bobby announced to the police officer at the door, flashing a badge.

"Yes, Special Agent Sommers."

Dean blinked, amused, and barely held his tongue until they were out of earshot.

"Special Agent Sommers?" he repeated, incredulously.

Bobby turned half-way as they walked down the corridor, eyebrows arched and mischief shining across his eyes.

"Yeah, so?"

"Nothing, man" Dean shook his head at once and lifted his palms a couple of inches, "I'm just officially impressed."

Sam's lips quirked in a brief smile and Dean could swear that his brother's tension lessened a good couple of notches.

"So, what do we have?" Dean asked, "We heard there are two victims?"

"That's right." Bobby nodded tersely, "But I prefer that you see it for yourselves. I warn you, it's not pretty." He finished, throwing a cautionary look over his shoulder.

"Pretty is overrated." Dean replied.

They arrived at an open door that was guarded by a young officer, who hesitated as the three hunters approached.

"We got this, son." Bobby told him, kind but inflexible, "I need you to go outside and tell me when the forensics team and our colleagues arrive."

The officer shot a look at Sam and Dean, and nodded.

"Yes, Sir."

He disappeared down the corridor and Dean stared at Bobby with open awe. "Man, who the Hell did you tell them we were, again?

Bobby flashed a curved smile.

"Told them you were two experts from my team in DC."

"And they bought it?" Dean asked in wonder.

"You'd be surprised." Bobby retorted, "Now, we gotta hurry. The forensics team won't take much longer to find a roundabout way to avoid the little obstacle I got set up in the middle of the road."

"You _what_?"

"Are you ready?" Bobby pressed.

Dean snorted to himself and swallowed around the automatic _I was born ready_ that tingled on the tip of his tongue. Bobby breathed in and went inside without further ado, so Dean checked on Sam, just a step behind, and braced himself to follow.

_As if I hadn't seen gruesome before..._

"Jesus Christ..." The older hunter whispered, releasing his breath in a rush.

Gruesome didn't begin to explain it; "gruesome" was just a _word_. There was blood everywhere and its metallic tang permeated the air so deeply that the smell alone triggered his gag reflex. There were too bodies tangled in a bed, and they were naked, although the dozens of oozing lacerations and the layer of drying red blood made the skin almost impossible to see. A man and a woman, apparently, disheveled and twisted one on top of the other in a mess of limbs, hair and angry cuts. Most of them looked like stab wounds, but some of them were superficial and jagged while other were deep punctures to the bone. All in all, it seemed like a furious beast had ravaged the poor couple; or rather, a pack of them.

"What the-" Dean shook his head as he advanced into the room, studying the scene, "What the hell happened here?"

Bobby sighed and crouched next to the bed, eyeing the bodies critically. Judging by his expression, the seasoned hunter honestly had no clue. Dean pursed his lips and approached the bed, but before he got there, instinct —or maybe intuition, manifested as a curious sensation of cold on his back— had him turning around. Sam was still at the door, and it was his absence and especially his silence that had alerted Dean. That wasn't what made his concern spike, though. It was the transfixed look on his little brother's face. Sam was frozen at the doorway, a hand on the door frame, with his eyes glued to the grisly scene, as pale as a sheet of paper.

Frowning, Dean shot a glance at Bobby, who was focused on checking the windows of the room, and stepped towards Sam.

"Hey," the older sibling called.

It was barely a whisper, and no one but Sam would have picked up on it, but he did and when his eyes zeroed on Dean's, they were wide and unguarded. Dean tilted his head an inch while Sam swallowed imperceptibly and breathed through his nose, slow and controlled. Then, the younger looked at the mangled bodies again and left his safe spot slowly, wavering marginally as he pulled away from the door. Dean moved closer to him, but Sam was already stepping towards him too, like he was being pulled by a magnetic force. They didn't speak when they met halfway, but Dean grabbed Sam's arm in a loose grip and squeezed his biceps to ground Sam's attention.

_You with me?_

Sam's expression was so tight it looked as if he had a mask stretched over his features to keep any emotion from slipping out. His eyes, however, weren't as emotionless as his face and neither was Sam's racing pulse under Dean's palm. So he held on and kept his eyes locked to Sam's, until the younger seemed to get it together and managed a small nod. When Sam finally dragged his eyes to the scene once more, he was more composed and observant, like a hunter in detective mode. Dean let go of his brother and tossed a look toward Bobby, who apparently had been unaware of their little moment, or maybe was just being polite. Though it hadn't lasted but a few seconds tops, when Dean released his breath, his abs ached as if he had been clenching them for hours.

"It doesn't make any sense," Sam said, in a small voice. "So far all the deaths looked like suicides, but this can't-"

"Look closer, son." Bobby shook his head, "Look at their hands."

Both brothers advanced warily and made the revolting effort to distinguish where the hands of the two bodies were. Dean felt bile rising to his throat again when he noticed what Bobby had been referring to. By him, Sam's paleness took on a greenish hue, but he held his own.

"Knives?" Dean muttered, "Are you saying that they did this to each other?" The hunter huffed a breath and shook his head, "And I thought _I _was kinky..."

Sam gaped at the two bodies in disbelief. "No... their wounds...they're not-"

"They did this to themselves," Bobby completed the thought that had started to form in Sam's brain, "Not to _each other_. We're looking at a double suicide, boys."

Dean shook his head again and studied every cut, every detail, even every corner of the room, because he still couldn't bring himself to wrap his mind around it.

"Nobody can do this to themselves," he muttered, "This can't be just random human craziness, there has got to be something we're missing here."

However, there was to trace of sulfur to hint demonic possession and judging by the silence of the EMF detector Sam was waving around, they could rule out ghost possession too. It was insane.

"Who found them?" Sam asked.

"Julie Hamilton, this is her house."

"What?" Sam frowned, "I thought _they_ were Julie and Ronald."

"That is certainly Ronald," Bobby shrugged, "But the woman here is one Wendy Philips."

"Huh." Dean grunted, raising his head at that.

Well, Dean thought, boy dates girl, boy cheats on girl, girl flips out and goes into some kind of mind controlling homicidal rage... That could be explained to some extent, couldn't it?

"We should talk to her." The older Winchester stated.

Bobby nodded. "Follow me."

He guided them to the kitchen, where apparently Julie was being held for a preliminary interrogation. On their way there, they passed through another room, where a tall girl, with short blond hair was talking with a cop. None of them paid any attention to the hunters, except for a sideways glance.

"That's a friend of Julie's. She was with her when they found the bodies." Bobby mumbled in a low voice.

Julie was in the kitchen with a detective and a couple of officers, who had been trying to question her and at the same time trying to calm her down, because the girl was a total wreck. She hadn't stopped crying since she had found Ronald and his "friend" and was barely able to babble broken answers to the officers questioning her.

She was also beautiful, Dean expertly appreciated as soon as he laid his eyes on her. Auburn, wavy hair framed a nice, chiseled face with green eyes and full pouty lips. She was slim, fit but with a generous cleavage. All in all, the first though that came to Dean's mind was _Ronald, my friend, what were you thinking?_

Dean felt Sam's gaze on him, as if the younger had read his mind. He probably _had _read his mind, the little prick, because there it was: that self-righteous look on his face. Dean shot Sam a glare.

_Ah, come on, I'm not going to jump on a grieving suspect. I'm just not blind!_

Bobby spoke to a detective, who nodded to his men to leave the room.

"Ten minutes." He warned Bobby under his breath. "Or my bosses won't like it, and then_ I_ won't like you."

They left and Dean couldn't but feel impressed again.

"Old friend?"

"You could say that, yeah." Bobby responded vaguely.

Julie remained seated, apparently unaware of the replacement of law enforcements around her. She was clutching a mug of some kind of infusion, although from the looks of it, it had long-ago gone cold. Dean caught Bobby's nod out of the corner of his eye and smiled. To pose as a Special Agent with rookies under his command was one thing, but he couldn't imagine his gruff friend interrogating a young woman in distress. Looking at Sam elicited a different kind of nod, and both Winchesters advanced towards the crying woman.

"Hey, Julie?" Sam sat down in chair in front of her and looked at the woman sympathetically. "Would you like more tea?"

Startled, Julie lifted her head and looked at them.

"Who are you?" She asked nervously.

"I'm Sam, this is Dean," Sam replied, then nodded lightly in Bobby's direction. "We're with the FBI. We were wondering if we could ask you some questions."

"I…I already told everything to the police." She stammered.

"I know." Sam reassured her. "We just need to verify some facts. Is that okay?"

Julie hesitated, her bloodshot eyes bouncing from one brother to the other. Finally she lowered her gaze and shrugged her permission.

"Julie," Dean spoke steadily, attentive of any reaction he could gather from the girl's face. "When was the last time you saw Ronald?"

"This morning, before I went to work." Julie answered with a trembling voice.

"So, you weren't in the house when Ronald…died, right?"

Julie swallowed and her eyes filled with fresh tears. "No, I was at my office."

"Why did you come back home?" Sam asked.

"Ron… he called me." Julie said. "He told me that he was sorry and I… I asked him why, but he wouldn't tell, just kept apologizing over and over again." Julie said, wiping at her eyes.

"What did he say exactly?" Sam prodded gently.

"I- I don't know, he just sounded crazy. I asked my friend Megan to drive me home and I found him… God, I found him." She cried in earnest now, tears falling down her cheeks.

Sam clenched his jaw and glanced at Dean, silently asking for him to take over. Dean furrowed his brow, but didn't miss a beat.

"Do you know who the woman with him was?" Dean asked carefully.

Julie just shook his head, totally devastated.

"Did you know that he was seeing someone else?" Dean ventured.

She raised her head and looked Dean straight in the eye.

"I didn't, no."

Dean narrowed his eyes at her and held her gaze for a couple of seconds.

"Boys," Bobby muttered from his position, close to the curtained window.

Both brothers turned to toss a glance at him.

"Forensics are here." He said casually. Then added, "And our friends too."

Real FBI. Sam and Dean shared a look and the younger stood up.

"Thank you, Julie." Dean said, flashing a smile to the distressed girl. "I think we're done."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

"She's lying." Dean stated firmly, as soon as they were out the house and on their way to the car.

Sam, on his right, glanced at him and nodded, unquestioningly. Bobby, on his left, sighed. "About what?"

"About not knowing that Ronald was cheating on her." Dean replied, "I _know_ she's lying."

Bobby rubbed at his beardless chin and grimaced a bit at the foreign touch.

"Maybe she is. Maybe she knew it, maybe she suspected it. But everything else checks out."

"You don't think she may be a witch?" Dean hazarded a guess.

Bobby pursed his lips and shrugged.

"She was at work when the boyfriend called, and she was surrounded by witnesses. That friend of hers, Megan, verified that she drove Julie home. It's unlikely that Julie was chanting any sort of spell while it was taking place. Besides, I've found no hex bag anywhere. Those herbs she was taking? I had Peter put in a dose of holy water and there was no reaction. I don't know, but I'm pretty sure that girl is as human as they come."

Dean sighed, agreeing despite himself. He stole a glance at Sam, who seemed deep in thought as he walked with his shoulders hunched and his eyes on the ground.

"Did you find anything out at the police station?" Bobby asked.

"Nothing, really." Dean answered, although his attention didn't budge from Sam. "Hey, can we meet you back at your place? We'll tell you what we've got."

Bobby let out a long suffering sigh.

"Hell, yes. I can't wait to get this thing off me" he complained, pulling at the shirt's collar.

Dean chuckled. "See you in a while then." He concluded, clapping Sam on the shoulder and veering them both towards the Impala.

As soon as they got into the car, their muscles unclenched immediately as the familiar leather gave under their weight. Dean leaned his head back and rolled his neck and shoulders. By his side, a quiet Sam took a moment to reset his thoughts too, whatever they were, before bringing his hands to the wheel.

"What happened to you in there?" Dean asked, trying to catch his brother unguarded, before he had time to put up his barriers.

Sam flinched a bit, and his hands froze on the wheel. He didn't look at Dean, but kept his eyes on an unfocused point in the distance.

"What happened to me where?" The younger answered dully.

What? Stalling? It had to be bad then. All the more reason for Dean to push.

"You know where." Dean replied, inflexibly.

The muscle in Sam's jaw tensed and, for the longest of seconds, he didn't say anything. He remained immobile, thinking. Always thinking.

"Nothing happened to me in there." Sam said finally.

Dean felt his own fists clenching.

"That's bullshit." He spat.

"Dean, I don't want to talk about it." Sam warned him.

"More bullshit."

"Yeah?" Sam turned to his sibling challengingly, "Then, do you want to tell me what happened to you in the station?"

Dean felt the blow, low in his gut, and gaped at Sam, effectively silenced.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Sam finished the conversation by starting the car and pulling her to the road.

The only thing Dean could do was ride along. Of course, not five minutes later, Sam already looked remorseful. He was partly right though, Dean had no right to demand answers if he wasn't willing to give them himself, but it wasn't in Sam to be mean, no matter if it was righteously or not.

"Look," Sam said, without taking his eyes off of the road, "It's nothing, okay? I just- I guess I got a little overwhelmed from all the blood. That's it, you can tease me about being a girl all you want."

Dean shrugged half-heartedly. For once, he really didn't feel like teasing Sam. Being disgusted by something like what they had seen was the least one could expect from any normal person, just like getting a witness eating out of his hand would be expected from any half-decent lawyer. He didn't tease Sam, because the only thing he could think of was _I shouldn't have dragged you back into this._

"Don't worry. This should be over soon." Dean assured him. "Then you can go back to your life."

Sam set his jaw and turned to Dean with a scorching gaze.

"Oh, I _can_, can I?"

And as much as Dean tried to ignore the hurt in his brother's words, and as he drowned any possibility of giving him an answer by turning on the music, he still felt like the biggest selfish prick on Earth.

* * *

_TBC_


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, guys! Okay, am I the only one who is totally traumatized by the season finale? Because everyone at boards and stuff seem to think it was an awesome ending!**

**Thanks to all the readers. This is for you.**

**And thanks, Megan! It was fun to share my frustration last week ;)**

* * *

**Unleashed Fury**

**III**

"Bloody Mary."

It was the first thing Dean came up with and he blurted it out to break the clueless silence that had fallen over the three hunters after they had debriefed each other of their findings over a couple of beers. Sam raised his eyes from the computer screen and Bobby unglued his eyes from the dusty book he had been leafing through.

"How?" Bobby asked.

"Well, those people had secrets, right? Ronald had an affair and you just said that Janine White, the fifth victim, had had one too..." Dean began.

"In the seventies." Bobby reminded him, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but think about it. Maybe Elena and her cop partner were together, it would make sense according to how well they got along and all." Dean ventured, digging further into the idea.

"What about the others?" Sam asked.

"Well, we've got a guy who may have been abusing his kid, that's pretty big. And a CEO, Head honchos are bound to have a handful of dirty secrets."

Bobby and Sam mulled it over, but Dean already knew that it was a weak theory, full of holes. It was just frustrating that the answers for the case kept eluding them: there were too many loose ends.

"Those are different kinds of secrets," Sam shrugged, "And some of them are hardly secrets at all. Bloody Mary seemed to be much more selective. And, besides, there were no mirrors in the room."

Judging by Sam's expression as he talked, Dean guessed he was referring to, and vividly remembering, the room where Ronald and Wendy had taken their last...breaths. His little brother's discomfort made Dean lose a bit of focus. Or gain it, depending on how you looked at it: it was a different kind of concern altogether.

"Unfaithfulness is more related with women in white." Bobby mused aloud.

Sam blinked, as if the older hunter's voice had brought him back to the present and back to the case at hand.

"There are women among the victims," Sam countered automatically.

"Men in white?" Bobby shot back.

Dean didn't know what did the trick, the serious, deadpan tone of Bobby's voice when he suggested it, or the smirk on his shaved face, but Sam raised his eyes, met his father's friend's... and started laughing. Bobby cracked barely a second later. Both of them chuckled for a few seconds, either out of tension or weariness or simple beer-fuelled silliness. Dean wasn't sure, but he was too thankful for the moment to ask.

"All right, all right, girls," Dean chided, calling their attention back, even as he continued to smile, "What about some kind of vigilante. An entity that knows certain things about some people and offs them because of that."

"Something like that ghost priest you wasted last year?" Bobby asked.

It didn't escape Dean how his brother flinched at that, more emotionally than physically. All the sad bitterness of that case reached not only Sam, but also Dean's memory across the time that had passed.

"Could be," Sam admitted softly, "But...it doesn't seem like..." he trailed off, struggling with the right words to make himself clear, "I mean, nothing is killing them, they are committing suicide."

"I'm pretty sure something _is _killing them, Sam." Dean argued.

"Yeah, but you have to admit it's a weird MO."

"Suicidal." Bobby said, out of the blue.

"What?" Both brothers asked in unison.

"A suicidal spirit," Bobby elaborated, "Someone commits suicide and his or her damned soul roams the Earth pushing other souls to do the same, yadda, yadda, yadda."

Dean chewed on his bottom lip and looked at Sam, who gave a slight shrug. It was the best thing they had and everything still didn't fit. The fact that no EMF traces had been found at the scene. Besides, spirits tended to be repetitive and it would be more likely that they wanted to re-enact their own death instead of showing such a wide range of ways to kill. Of course, there were a lot of things the hunters didn't know about spirits. Who knew? Maybe they were dealing with a ghost that had found an unexplored loophole to break spirits' conduct regulations, and drive them crazy.

"When was the first death?" Sam asked.

"Two weeks ago, on the 18th." Bobby responded.

"Right," Sam continued, in his research-mode voice tone, "So maybe we should look for something that happened around that date that could have triggered all this."

"You want a suicidal ground _zero_, is that what you mean?" Dean clarified.

"Exactly, or anything violent, really, that might have spurred a spirit to wake up."

"Well, it sounds like a good place to start" Bobby stood up, eagerly rubbing his palms together, "I'll get some old newspapers."

"And I'll see what's online." Sam nodded, without losing a beat.

Dean stared at them, his two geeks, and found himself smiling softly as a warm flicker of hope blossomed inside him. He let himself savor it for a second. It was a calming sensation, as if there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel.

"I'll go get Dad's journal." He announced, "We left it in the car."

In response to the weird look that Sam shot him, the answer was yes, Dean wanted to give Bobby and Sam some time alone. And, if he had to be honest, he sort of needed some space too. Sam had been watching him like a hawk since morning and it was making Dean overly self-conscious of his every movement. He held Sam's gaze for a few seconds longer to make sure his little brother was ok with staying with Bobby; the last thing Dean wanted to do was make things harder for Sam.

The younger looked down, then at the computer screen and finally finished his beer in one gulp, as he said, "Bring me the bag in the back seat, please. There're some books I need in it."

Dean nodded and his eyes lingered on Sam, in case he had misunderstood his permission. When Sam didn't look at him again, Dean finally moved towards the door hesitant already to leave the room, but trusting his instincts that Sam and Bobby could use a few minutes together. Giving in to his own need of air.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam locked himself in the bathroom the minute Dean was out of his sight. He sat on the corner of the toilet and tried to breathe evenly to stop the slight, persistent shake of his hands, and quell the nausea that crawled inside his stomach.

_Dammit..._

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, fighting for control, but he could feel the layer of cold sweat on his skin already and his heart pounded like a drill in his ears. It was fair to say that control was out of the question, at least for now. Actually, whatever control he had, had gone out the door with Dean. It was ironic, because his brother had clearly left in an attempt to give Sam the space that would keep exactly _this _from happening.

Turns out, his brother had been what had kept Sam from melting down in the first place.

It hadn't been the blood itself that had upset him so much, despite what he had told his brother. And despite what Dean was probably thinking, it wasn't that Sam was unaccustomed to gruesome either. Some things just stick with you no matter what, no matter how long you've been far away from them. Gruesome was a part of who Sam was, and whether he liked it or not, there was no way around it.

The thing was that Ronald and Wendy really looked like they had been ravaged by a wild animal. And it hadn't been very long ago since Sam had witnessed first-hand exactly that. He had been there while an innocent man was ripped to shreds, while Sam stood watching, helpless to stop it. _Unwilling_ even, if he had had to choose between that man and his brother. Because _nothing_ came before Dean. Nothing and _no one_.

And yet, all of a sudden everything was coming back to him, each and every sensation fast and hard, until his head swam. The smell of the blood, the cries of agony, the horror at what he had done and the paralyzing fear that it might not have been enough. It had hit him all at once at Julie's house, and he had barely resisted falling to his knees in front of Ronald's bloody corpse.

_Matthew. His name was Matthew._

"Sam?"

The knock on the door startled Sam. It was Bobby calling him and for a fleeting second Sam couldn't breathe, as the memory of the disgusted expression on the seasoned hunter's face and the judgment in his eyes seized Sam's chest. His heart lodged in his throat, as if no months had passed since it had taken place.

"You okay in there?" Bobby asked from behind the closed door.

Sam made a conscious effort to rally himself, and give his voice enough strength so that it wouldn't quiver and give away the tenuous grip he had on his emotions.

"Yeah... I-I will be out in a minute." Sam replied, unsure of how long he had been in there.

He closed his eyes, willing his pulse to slow down, as he heard Bobby back away from the door and return to the living room. He had to pull himself together and fast or eventually Dean would be the one at the door. But, the fact was, he didn't feel ready to leave his self-made haven. His nerves were racing, despite the absence of an immediate threat and his system was crashing, as if he were suffering the effects of an adrenaline rush. If he had been able to throw up, he was sure that he would have felt marginally better, but his stomach wasn't cooperating, and even that reprieve was denied.

_C'mon, Sam, get yourself together._

Grinding his teeth, Sam pulled himself to his feet using the wall as support and stumbled to the sink to wash his face. The cool water felt good and his hot skin tempered under it, but his hands were still shaking and his heart still pounded dully inside his ribcage, as if each beat was a blow. With a long breath, Sam braced himself and turned off the tap, let go of the sink and left the bathroom.

Bobby was still in the living room and, apparently, Dean was still outside. Sam felt both relieved and anxious for it. He went straight to the kitchen eyes glued to the floor so that he wouldn't meet the older hunter's gaze, opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. Half of it he downed in one gulp. The youngest Winchester sighed deep and leaned against the counter with both hands, head bowed, appreciating how the drink uncurled a little his knotted insides.

"Hey."

Startled again by Bobby's voice, Sam's hand tightened around the bottle and he turned towards Bobby, keeping his eyes blank.

"Hey." He replied noncommittally.

"You don't look so hot." Bobby commented uncomfortably.

"I'm fine." Sam said tersely.

Bobby nodded. He may have been willing to push Sam further, but Sam's dry tone clearly made the older man think again. That was fine by Sam, who finished his beer and busied himself getting another one to sip more slowly.

"Dean..." Bobby started, "How's he doing?"

Sam raised his eyes at that, without moving from the safety of his corner: the distance between he and Bobby allowed him room to breathe and the counter against his lower back was solid and grounding.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked warily.

"Nothing," Bobby shrugged, "Just...I don't know, he looks a little… tired, I guess."

Sam swallowed and averted his eyes, uncomfortably. Bobby was right. Actually, he was being pretty generous about it. Dean looked like hell, but he was remarkably better than the previous month, when he had looked like death warmed over. Sam had gotten so used to it that he barely though about it anymore, because it was the improvement he saw, not how far from normal Dean still was. The only thing that mattered to Sam was that his brother was getting there, little by little. Sam could tell Bobby all that, but then he would have to tell him about Lillian too and that secret wasn't his to tell. And even if it had been, he wasn't sure he would have wanted to share it with Bobby.

"He's got a rough couple of weeks." Sam provided weakly.

John's friend studied Sam attentively, his expression conflicted. When he finally spoke, his voice was cautious, but direct.

"Have you told him?"

Sam's heart skipped a beat and he turned to Bobby, meeting his eyes squarely. He knew what the older hunter meant, but still Sam asked, voice even and emotionless.

"Told him what?"

Bobby hesitated at the sudden coldness in Sam's tone, but he didn't recoil.

"About the warehouse. About how you got him out." Bobby pressed.

So that was what Bobby thought that was wrong with Dean? That Sam had spilled and his older brother was in a bad shape because of it. It made sense, Sam brooded, but it still hurt to hear it coming from Bobby.

"No," Sam assured, "He...he suspects part of it, but I haven't told him."

Bobby nodded but kept his expression collected, not allowing Sam to know if he approved or not. The fact that Sam cared what Bobby thought pissed him off and, he felt himself getting defensive. He and Bobby had told each other everything there was to say a few months ago and it was obvious that their positions hadn't changed, so really, San didn't need to reenact it again. He was starting to get overwhelmed by his own guilt, without Bobby's help on top of it.

"We should go back to research," Sam mumbled, walking briskly to the door.

He had every intention to walk past Bobby and end the awkward exchange, but Bobby grabbed his arm to stop him. Sam backed away from his grip, muscles tightening automatically in preparation for a fight. Bobby let go of him quickly and raised his palms, placating Sam's aggression.

"Sam, we need to talk."

"About what?" The younger challenged in a voice roughened by the same tension that thrummed through his nerves.

Bobby licked his lips as he observed Sam with wary, sad eyes.

"You know about what." He said levely.

Sam glared at him. He was clenching his jaw so hard that it hurt and his stomach was flip-flopping all over again, but this time he knew that his anger would help him keep it together. That was, at least, if the stinging sensation in the back of his eyes didn't betray him and overflow unbidden.

"There's nothing to talk about, Bobby" Sam growled low in his throat.

_Get out of my way. Please, just…Get out of my way._

"I know you're not alright." Bobby insisted.

"I'm _fine._"

"Yeah? And what was that at Julie's? And in the bathroom just now?"

Sam's breathing picked up and bile rose at the back of his throat. He wanted to lash out; it was as if every single nerve of his body begged him to. But if he let frustration get the better of him, he wouldn't be able to stop his tears from falling. One thing Sam knew for sure: he hadn't answered Dean when he had asked him the same question and he definitely wasn't answering Bobby. It would make things worse for everyone, including his brother.

"I don't need this, Bobby." He rasped, warningly, "I _can't_."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to, son." The older hunter pressed, "If we're going to work together…"

"Exactly, it's just that. We _work_ together." Sam stressed, "But you are _not_ my father. And it's obvious that Dean and I are not your sons."

"Sam, that's not-" Bobby tried to say, eyes wounded.

"I respected your decision, Bobby. Is it that much to ask that you respect mine?" Sam roared.

With that, Sam barreled his way out of the kitchen, and Bobby didn't try to stop him. The younger Winchester was already at the computer when he realized that his chin was trembling and he swallowed convulsively a couple of times. He knew his words had hurt Bobby just as much as it had hurt Sam to say them, but he _meant_ them. He loved the man; he just didn't think they could be anything else than hunting partners from now on. And Bobby was the best of partners, after Dean. Sam didn't plan to fail either of them.

Even if Bobby thought Sam was a monster.

Because guilt was one thing but he couldn't afford remorse to get in the way. Even if it eventually destroyed him, Sam didn't regret what he had done. And all of the _I told you so_'sof the world wouldn't change that.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Dean pulled his jacket tighter around himself while he walked to the car, tossing an absent glance around him, more out of habit than because he thought there could actually be a threat lurking in the junkyard. The place was as protected as it got, Dean knew, and if there was anywhere he could let his guard down, it was there. Still, he liked to be aware of his surroundings: it was the best way to protect himself, and by himself, he sort of meant Sam. After all, it had become painfully obvious how much more distracted he was when Sam was not around.

The young hunter shook his head and tried to banish those thoughts to the back to his mind, but it was getting harder and harder to do that. The nightmare he had woken up with in the morning had been bad and afterwards, at the police station… It was as if everything reminded him of what he had done and he could feel in his gut that something was starting to break. Having Sam by his side helped: his little brother was determined to have Dean get over the accident and was making a remarkable effort to keep Dean from dwelling on it. It worked most of time; as it worked to have a hunt to focus on, but not even Dean could fool himself 24/7. He could feel his emotions blubbing through the cracks, just below the surface, and it had been all he had been able to do not to melt down in front of everyone.

The Impala appeared in the distance and Dean's heart tightened inside his chest at the sight of her. His eyes automatically went to the indentation in the front bumper and he had to shut them closed to stop his vision from tunneling. Sam had insisted they fix it several times, but Dean had abjectly rejected to do so. It was his penance, the reminder of what he had done, and he refused to erase it, even though it physically _hurt_ to see it every time. Sometimes, it hurt so bad that he couldn't breathe for several seconds after raking his gaze over the car. It was insane.

Normally, Sam was there to distract him when it happened, pull him out of the dark place he got lost into and talk him into a kind of barely balanced calm that lasted a few hours. This time Sam wasn't there though, and Dean let the familiar stab of pain squeeze his senses.

_C'mon, Dean. Breathe in. One…_

He could do it, he _needed_ to do it. He was doing the right thing by trying to move on. Sam needed him to keep it together if Dean wanted to give his little brother a life.

_Two…_

He could help many people out here. Saving people, hunting things… It was much more than the family business: it was his only real chance for atonement.

He made it to three, before his mind conjured a terrible screeching sound that made him stumble and open his eyes with a gasp. His hands found the roof of the Impala and he leaned hard against it, blinking back sweat and unshed tears. How could he be so _pathetic_? Dean shook his head and felt his knees go weak. He wished he could just get in the car and relax into the leather seats as he had done so often. It had always been his safe place, _home_, where he could unwind, take a breath and _be_.

But now even that had been taken away from him. He hadn't been able to get close to the car without thinking of Lillian and the simple thought of driving it… Dean groaned and let himself slid down the side of the Impala and to the ground, struggling to control his racing pulse. After a few stuttering breaths, it was safe enough to raise his head from his knees and he swallowed hard as he watched the star-filled sky. This was exactly what he had feared that it would happen the second he let himself go, but at least he had found a moment to break down without witnesses.

_Sammy…Sammy Sammy Sammy…_

His stomach hurt and Dean clenched his fist against the seized muscles of his stomach as he waited for his vision to clear. His nerves were soothed by the bright spots of the dark sky; little by little, the breeze dried the cold sweat off his forehead and the sickly sensation of being too hot started to fade. With a conscious effort, he silenced the instinctive call for his brother and forced himself to start counting again, slow and easy.

Because he could do this. He had to do this.

_I'm so sorry, Lillian._

It took several minutes until he was able to count to five and by then, a few tears had spilled from his eyes. Dean wiped at them and, as he lowered his hand, he brushed the Impala's door in an absent caress that would have had Sam snickering at the very least. Dean smiled faintly at the thought and closed his eyes. God, he just wanted to crawl somewhere and hide until daylight.

Instead, he pushed himself to his feet and opened the door, purposely avoiding the sight of the dented bumper. After retrieving their father's journal, he walked back to the house.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Dean picked up on the tension inside as soon as he crossed the threshold and his chest tightened a little on its own accord. The house was silent and the air felt thick as he struggled to push it into his lungs. He found Bobby first; in the kitchen, scouring old newspapers. When their eyes met, his friend's regretful gaze told Dean everything he needed to know.

"Dean?" Bobby began, looking both regretful and wretched.

Dean shook his head slightly and backed away from the kitchen and into the living room, guilt eating at him. As much as he wanted Sam and Bobby to sort out their issues, he shouldn't have pushed it. It was just that… they were laughing together before he left. Dammit, Dean had needed just a minute. And he had thought that it would be _safe_.

Sam was in the living room, vacant eyes staring at the computer screen as he scrolled through the pages. _Staring_ being the key word because it was obvious that he wasn't reading, more like locked somewhere inside his mind, distant and unreachable. It tore at Dean's heart and he felt dragged towards his little brother, who looked up at him as soon as he approached.

"Hey," Dean whispered.

_You alright, little brother?_

"Hey, yourself" Sam replied.

While the younger's face was empty, but his eyes were like open windows to the mess Sam was inside.

_Not really._

And instantly, Sam's gaze sharpened and he studied his older brother attentively. Dean realized that he was being asked the same question and that as far as his answer went, he was just as transparent as his brother was.

What a pair they were.

"Did you…uh…did you guys find anything?" Dean asked, trying to divert Sam's attention.

Sam blinked at him and Dean felt Sam's eyes peering into his very _soul_. He always felt naked under that gaze: it rendered him totally dependent on Sam and his mercy. He couldn't hide himself from his brother, he never had been able to when Sam really _looked_. What his sibling chose to do with what he found was out of Dean's control.

This time Sam was gracious enough to remain silent. Setting his eyes back on the screen, he shrugged his negation.

"Still nothing. But I…I have a lot of sites to look up." Sam said distractedly.

The bluish light of the screen made Sam look even paler than he was.

"Did you bring my books?" He asked, glancing up again.

Dean bit his bottom lip. "Shit," he mumbled. _The bag in the backseat._ "I'm sorry, Sammy, I-" _Forgot because I was busy falling apart like a friggin' girl._ "Do you want me to go get them?" He offered, even as his stomach recoiled in apprehension at the idea of going back to the car alone.

Sam met Dean's eyes once more, intense and pleading, and it _killed_ Dean, downright tore him apart, not being able to grasp what it was exactly that his brother needed so desperately, even though Sam himself didn't seem to know. Dean could have figured it out before, before he had become a wreck himself, he was supposed to always know!

Ironically, it was Bobby who gave him the answer upon appearing at the doorframe of the living room. After giving them one single glance, he sighed and scrubbed his shaven chin with in a tired gesture.

"Hey, boys." He said huskily. "How about we leave this for today? It's been a shitty day and I don't know about you, but I'm beat."

Dean turned to Bobby, not before catching how Sam's shoulders sagged slightly and his eyes shone with gratitude towards John's friend. The continuous contradiction of emotions between the two was making Dean's head reel.

"Sounds good, Bobby." Dean agreed, "At least we know where to start tomorrow."

"That we do," the older hunter nodded. "But for now, I've got burgers and a six pack with our names on it."

Sam lowered his gaze and busied himself closing the laptop, leaving Dean on his own to elicit what the younger thought of the offer, using whatever his muted demeanor was supposed to show.

"I think we should go," Dean said, hoping he had read his brother correctly. "As you said, we're beat and I'm dying to hit the sack."

This time it was Bobby's shoulders that sagged, although it wasn't relief, but sadness. Dean felt like a total jerk for it.

"Sure, you do what you have to do." Bobby replied.

Sam stood up and Dean's attention went to him in time to see him sway and balance himself with the back of the chair.

"Sam? What-?"

Sam was frozen, eyes blinking wide, while color leeched from his face.

"Nothing. I- uh... I just need some air." He mumbled

The younger was out of sight and out on the back porch before Dean could say _Impala_.

" 'the Hell, Bobby?" Dean exclaimed, increasingly frustrated.

He didn't want to attack Bobby, not without knowing what on Earth was going on between him and Sam in the first place. However, this was Sam they were talking about, and when his little brother was hurt, Dean tended to lose a bit of...No, scratch that: he threw all resemblance of perspective out the window. Nevertheless, the sad expression on his friend's usually brisk face pumped most of his protective animosity out of his heart. As both hunters stared at each other, Dean begged internally that Bobby would throw him a bone here, because he was lost.

"You should go check on him." Bobby finally mumbled, as if that was all explanation needed.

And that was exactly what Dean did.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam was on the porch, leaning over the railing with his head low and his face buried in his hands. He was breathing heavily and his knuckles were white as he applied pressure to his temples. It looked painful and Dean winced a little as he carefully approached, and leaned on the railing by Sam's side. The night was crispy and the cool breeze was invigorating; he breathed it in, savored it inside his lungs and let it out with a long sigh. Next to him, Sam swallowed, massaged his forehead hard with one hand and let the other one drop limply over the porch railing.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asked gently.

Sam grabbed the railing with both hands as he tilted his head back and breathed in deeply.

"I'm fine." He sighed, "I told you, I just need a minute. I need…damn, I need…"

Dean shook his head and turned his body towards Sam more fully, so that he was practically blocking his view from the door to the house, or at least he would be if Sam wasn't such a ginormous freak of nature. Dean wasn't sure why he felt the need to create an illusion of isolation for them, but the quiet, the moonlight and the two of them being alone seemed right. It had always done the trick with Sam and Dean trusted that this time around it would also help Sam talk.

"What, Sammy?" Dean gently demanded.

The anxiety in his sibling's eyes when they met Dean's almost made him back away, but he held on. To the handrail and to their little moment.

"I need to get out of here. I…I can't talk to him right now, Dean." Sam admitted shamefully. "Not today. It's been… I don't even know. I'm sorry."

"Whoa, hey." Dean reached out when Sam swayed again, concern rising at how unsteady his little brother seemed on his feet. "You're not making sense, kiddo. What happened in there?"

"Nothing happened." Sam denied softly.

"Don't lie to me, Sammy." Dean said firmly. "Did Bobby say or do anything that-?"

"No." The younger blurted miserably. "It's not his fault, okay? He's done nothing wrong."

Dean wanted to roll his eyes at that but just couldn't bring himself to. It was the same as before, Sam and Bobby, both of them pulling at him from different sides. But Dean wouldn't let it be as it had been in the past, he wouldn't let them tear him apart as Sam and John had. The minute Sam asked him, he would let go of Bobby. It would hurt, but he would do it now if Sam wanted. Only, all Sam's signals seemed to indicate that he didn't want Dean to, which left him in an impossible situation: in the dark, unable to fix it, unable to take a side. It was unfair of them to expect Dean to do nothing but pick up the pieces.

"It's me, man, I swear." Sam reassured him, somewhat unsteadily. "It got a little suffocating in there, that's all."

"Okay." Dean had to relent, because he didn't want to upset his brother more, "Okay, kiddo, we're going, alright? You heard him; the hunt can wait until tomorrow."

"I can't." Sam whispered.

"You can't what?" Dean asked, straining to hear Sam's mournful voice.

"Go…Man, I'm-" The younger pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes again and Dean's grip on Sam's arm tightened in confusion, as he felt Sam's muscles bunch and shift to gain their balance. "I think I'm drunk."

Of all the things Sam could have said, that one was definitely at the bottom of the list. So much so that the older brother thought he had heard misheard him.

"You're drunk." He repeated, totally flabbergasted. "H-How?"

"I'm pretty sure you know how it's done." Sam shot back.

Okay, touchy much? Then again, it fitted the pattern: Sam tended to get moody when he was drunk. He also got emotional and not in a good way. Drunken Sam was hard to handle, but Dean had done it before. It still didn't explain why Sam was so worked up, but he would find out.

"I mean, how many beers have you had?" Dean rephrased his previous question, rolling his eyes.

Because he remembered Sam having two with them earlier and he had seen another one half-empty on the table when he had returned from the car, but not even Sam was that much of a lightweight.

"Five…" he replied, eyes obscured under those lengthy bangs that always made him look younger than he was.

Dean's lips turned in a light grimace. That was definitely closer to Sam's limit. It also meant that his little brother had downed two bottles in the little time Dean had been outside. He had to bite his tongue to repress the burning urge to interrogate his little brother about what the hell had happened while he was at the Impala, only this time demand a real answer.

"Okay…" Dean found himself repeating stupidly. "You got a little drunk, alright. That's no big deal, Sammy. Let's just get to the motel and tomorrow you'll feel…well, you'll probably feel worse, but 'better', you know?"

"You don't get it." Sam said desolately.

And that would certainly be a _No_.

"We can't go." Sam said miserably. "I _can't_ drive."

Dean opened his eyes wide, as the meaning behind the realization that shone guiltily in Sam's eyes sank in.

_And I can't drive _you_._

A sense of profound failure fell over Dean's shoulders, it felt heavier than any other time he had failed Sam. Because this was the simplest of things, one he should have been able to do in his sleep: drive his brother home when he needed it. And yet, he couldn't. He had tried a couple of weeks ago, while Sam was at school, and to say he had had a panic attack wouldn't begin to cover it. He had been physically unable to sit behind the wheel of his baby without crashing down. System failure. _Hasta la vista_.

He was such a letdown.

"How could I be so stupid?" Sam ranted.

"Sam..." Dean protested.

"How could I forget?" Sam continued, without hearing Dean.

"I'm sorry."

Dean's soft words stopped Sam's tirade, and the younger dragged his attention back to his older brother, with a frown on his face.

"You're sorry?" Sam said, surprised, "Dean, it's not your fault. There is _one thing_ I have to do, and I screwed it up, because a little blood got me all…"

"You don't _have_ _to_ do anything, Sam." Dean countered. "It's not your job to drive me around. It's my damn problem and I should have gotten over it already."

"Dean, no. It's not a problem. Dammit, it's like the only thing I can do for you. I just… I don't know what happened. I forgot. I _forgot_, man."

So that was what had got Sam so distraught: that he had forgotten briefly about Dean ridiculous phobia and knocked down a couple of beers to many. Dean shook his head dismissively, still too wrapped up still in his own guilt-trip to think of making Sam see all the ways he was helping Dean cope. Looking back at the past few months, Dean realized that Sam had been a rock, _his_ rock, unwavering against the tides while Dean crashed over and over again. He had practically gone insane during all the long nights without sleep, haunted by memories that danced just out of his reach while his body grew weaker and weaker with each passing day. And when he _had_ remembered… it had been appalling.

If there was something he refused to do was give Sam shit for needing to numb things away for a few moments. The only thing _he_ wanted was to be able to return the favor. Only, there he was: several weeks had passed, and yet he had almost passed out earlier, just because he had been around cops. And then again, just because he had gone out to fetch something from the car.

"I'm sorry." Dean repeated emptily.

Sam sighed and reached out for the bench that was against the wall, and let himself drop into it.

"Told you. Not your fault."

"Yeah, well, we can stay here discussing whose fault it is and which of us is more pathetic until morning but… it's getting kinda cold, don't you think?"

Sam laughed sadly, as the alcohol mellowed his stiff muscles now that he was sitting down and the edge of despair faded into remorseful resignation.

"I wouldn't know." Sam tilted his head against the wooden panels at his back. "I feel warm."

Dean chuckled, and was about to comment on the drunken rosy hue of Sam's cheeks, but changed his mind. Besides, Sam had bent forwards again and was massaging his eyes sockets, in a vain attempt to clear his head.

Any other time, he might have suggested they just hang out for while, whilst Dean got some food into Sam and waited for him to sober up enough to take the car, but since "The Accident" Dean couldn't envision driving without being at 150% sure it was safe. They were too far to walk back to the motel and anyway Bobby would find it odd if they went on foot. Dean couldn't ask Bobby to drive them without giving him a lot of explanations as to why he couldn't do it, and he wasn't ready to give them. Not now; and most likely, not ever.

So Dean just rested his hand lightly on the top of Sam's head and massaged his scalp absently for a couple of seconds, until Sam lifted his eyes to Dean's. The older let his hand fall and looked into his little brother's eyes earnestly.

"I'll go talk to Bobby and ask him if we can stay." Dean told him. "I promise he'll stay out of the way for tonight, okay?"

"Dean, this is _his_ house." Sam argued.

"He'll stay away, Sammy." Dean reassured with conviction.

Sam's throat worked up and down, eyes latched to his brother's, until he finally nodded.

"Thanks." He said feebly.

"I'll be right back.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Dean went back to the house feeling oddly detached, and as if he had aged a hundred years in spirit, even if his body was only edging on thirty. It was getting too familiar: the bone deep weariness in his very soul, but the hunter didn't know how to fight it, other than setting his jaw, sucking it up and continuing on.

What he did know was that it was getting harder to hide it from other people. Apart from Sam, of course, from whom he had been able to hide very little since his early years. Bobby had been observing him gravelly since they had arrived and Dean had noticed, even if the older hunter had been his discreet self about it. Just as Bobby looked at him now, the second he walked through the door: worried, always worried: for Sam and for Dean. He pursed his lips and made a conscious effort to straighten up, erase any drop of exhaustion from his face and look back at Bobby as if he had everything under control. Bobby shouldn't be worried about Sam: it was like doubting that Dean could take care of his little brother. That is, the worst of crimes. And Bobby shouldn't worry about Dean, because... just because.

"Is he alright?" Bobby asked him in a soft voice.

Bobby's brokenness got to Dean a little. Sam insisted, _insisted_ and kept insisting that Bobby had done nothing wrong, yet Bobby sounded honestly contrite. The two seemed to be unable to be in the same room for long, and yet the minute they were apart and Dean mentioned one of them to the other they got that tragic, nostalgic look on their faces that said that they would get back together if they could.

Was it so serious whatever they had fought about? Because at this point, it was quite clear that it had been about him. About the deal. Dean shook his head, afraid of the day Sam decided to tell him all about it. If he was sure of anything at this moment, it was that whatever Sam had done, it hadn't been worth it. Dean being alive had cost too many lives already. Maybe they were they just too stubborn to fix things up? Certainly, Dean had experienced how much of a mule Sam could be. And, after all, Bobby had spent years without talking to John. It seemed like their father had known how to push all the buttons of the people around him.

Dean shrugged and heard himself sighing.

"He's fine." Dean lied. "He's just… he's a little…confused right now." He finished with an inner grimace and a helpless shake of his head.

He didn't want to sound like his little brother was crazy or out of his mind, but for some reason he hadn't wanted to say _drunk_, as if that would belittle Sam's state of mind. Bobby glanced towards the door. There it was, that longing look again plastered across Bobby's face. Dean closed his eyes and swallowed around the lump forming in his throat.

"Bobby, I…" He forced himself to continue, "I think that we may need to stay here tonight, if that's okay."

Bobby frowned at him, half-way surprised and half-way annoyed at the question.

"I thought I told you yesterday. You can stay here anytime you want." He said solemnly.

Dean swallowed again and averted his eyes. He felt so tired that he could fall asleep right there, on his feet, in the middle of the living room. He also felt tempted by the beer inside the fridge or even the Jack Daniels he knew Bobby kept on the second cupboard on the right. Hell, maybe Sam would want to finish what he had started and both of them could get wasted and forget all the crap that had been thrown at them for a little while.

"Yeah…" He whispered, and looked up ruefully at Bobby, "It's just…He's not…Bobby, I-"

"I'll head upstairs," Bobby rescued him, "Wasn't lying when I said I was cooked."

"I'm sorry." Dean blurted. It was painful and heartfelt.

"Don't be." Bobby simply smiled weakly. "You're just taking care of Sam."

"He's my brother." Dean stated, as if that could explain it all.

Bobby nodded, because, after all, it sort of did.

"You know where everything is. And if you need anything else you know where I am."

"Thank you." Dean said, holding his friend's gaze with honest eyes.

Emotion flashed across the older man's face for a split second, before he scrunched his face and growled to cover it.

"Don't go thanking me, boy, or I'll have to deck ya." He warned, before walking toward the stairs. Then, as an afterthought, he turned around and added, "Get yourself and that brother of yours something to eat, alright? Don't- don't let him drink any more on an empty stomach."

Dean nodded, moved by Bobby's warm concern more than he could express.

"Good night, Bobby."

"Good night."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! Thanks again for reading and reviewing. I know I have some reviews left to reply, and I promise I will... Hopefully now.**

**Thanks Megan! ;)**

* * *

**Unleashed Fury**

**IV**

Sam awoke gradually, climbing through the layers of slumber one by one. The first thing he was aware of was the cushions underneath him, soft, worn, and somewhat familiar. Stretching his legs, his feet hit a barrier, and his foggy mind provided the idea registered that he must be lying on a couch. Indistinct morning sounds started to filter through his brain, but it was a dog barking nearby that finally prompted Sam to open his eyes causing his body to jolt. He was lying on his stomach, head turned toward the back of the couch, so there wasn't much to see. Sam blinked blankly a few times, as his mind raced through the thoughts that popped up automatically in his brain. Where was he? Was he armed? _Dean_?

Another bark and a gruff order for the dog, wherever the animal was, made Sam's mind land on the present at last. Bobby. He was at Bobby's. Immediately, memories of the previous day pushed the last vestiges of sleep away and Sam swallowed, scrunched his eyes shut and heard himself let out a soft groan. His head felt overstuffed and it ached dully. Although he hadn't had that much to drink the previous night, it had been enough to give him a buzz and render him absurdly unable to sit behind the wheel and do something as basic as drive himself and his brother back to their room.

_How could __I have been so stupid?_

He had lost control and he was ashamed and disgusted with himself. Once again, Dean had had to pick up the slack and face Bobby for him, as if Sam was still a helpless child. He remembered his brother coming back out to the porch and coaxing him back inside to lie on the makeshift bed he was now occupying. He also remembered that Bobby had been nowhere in sight.

It was ridiculous; they were at Bobby's house. Sam should be able to either get to their motel or suck it up. But for some reason the scenario of the latest deaths of the case had broken an invisible wall and Sam was crashing under the weight of it. Bobby's presence was like a burning rock rolling over his chest that wouldn't let him breathe. Realizing that he had failed Dean was only a reminder of Sam's own weakness.

He was supposed to stay strong, but he had gotten overwhelmed. And he still owed Dean and Bobby a big apology for it.

Sam decided that enough was enough. He was going to start acting like a real hunter. He would work with Bobby as he was obliged to do, and if he couldn't handle it, he would frigging _pretend_ he could. Bobby was making an effort and Sam had to honor it.

With this resolution made, Sam pushed himself up and sat upright on the couch, moving cautiously until his head stopped spinning. As soon as his eyes slid into focus, they fell on the sleeping bag at his feet and his stomach tightened a little as he remembered how his big brother had stayed by his side until Sam had fallen asleep: his brother's presence steady and grounding in a way unique to Dean. A phantom sensation of warmth tickled over his skin as he remembered a flash of the night before, just before he went under. It all had seemed like the end of the world and Sam hadn't noticed his chin was trembling until he felt Dean's callused hand over the side of his neck, as the older brother assured him without words that it was okay, that even the end of the world was fixable.

Sam stood up, wide awake and more determined than ever. A glance at his watch told him that it was quite early, only a quarter past seven, and it worried him that Dean was already up. In fact, his brother's "bed" looked barely rumpled. Sam hoped he hadn't kept Dean awake with his tossing and turning. Sam's nightmares weren't usually loud, and if Dean was asleep he usually managed not to wake his sibling up. Sam knew better than anyone how badly Dean needed to rest.

That was why it felt like a punch in the gut when he found Dean rummaging in the kitchen, drinking from a coffee pot already nearly empty.

_No... Not again._

There were some papers scattered over the kitchen table. Research, it seemed. Great, so Dean had been up even longer than Sam had thought. Remembering Bobby's words of concern for Dean the previous day, Sam gave an appraising look at his brother, noticing the stiff line of Dean's shoulders and the subtle tension inside his face, eyes heavy as if he had to make an effort to keep them open and focused.

"Hey, 'morning." Dean greeted him, breaking Sam's scrutiny. The older quirked an eyebrow and smiled at Sam. "I know I'm pretty, but quit it, dude."

Sam hardened his jaw, getting belligerent as his good-intentioned concern clashed against Dean's careless sense of humor. It was an old formula that always created a powerful feeling of bitter frustration flare inside Sam.

"What are you doing up so early?" Sam asked, accusingly.

This was so not how Sam had wanted to start out the day, but sometimes he couldn't help himself. Dean just pissed him off; like now, when Sam's reproach didn't seem to faze him in the least.

"Oookay." Dean rolled his eyes and returned to his coffee unflustered. "Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed."

"Dean, I'm serious."

"Yeah, sure you are." Dean nodded to the pot on the counter. "There's still coffee if you want. And bagels somewhere. You hungry?"

Sam shook his head, more out of a reflex than anything else. Actually, he was kind of hungry, which made sense since he had barely eaten the day before. However, the younger man wasn't sure that food would sit well with him at the moment. Besides, his headache was spiking thanks to Dean's exasperating streak.

"Suit yourself." Dean said with a shrug. "So listen, I think I found something-"

"Have you been researching all night?" Sam interrupted brusquely.

Dean shut his mouth with an audible click and glared at Sam.

"Jesus, Sam. What's gotten up your ass this morning?"

Sam couldn't find an answer right away, instead he averted his eyes and swallowed. Antagonizing his brother left a bitter taste in the back of the younger's throat. It didn't feel right, even if it was for Dean's own good.

"You can't keep doing this, Dean." Sam lectured fervently.

"Doing _what_?" Dean challenged.

"This...not sleeping!" Sam cried back. "We can't go back to that again, dammit, we _can't_!"

Dean took a deep, calming breath, without taking his gaze from Sam. His expression was blank but his green eyes sparkled in warning. Sam knew what it meant, it was the natural defiance his brother showed to anyone who tried to expose him. It made the younger brother feel like a jerk. Even worse because if Sam's memories of Dean's insomnia were bad, Dean's had to be downright awful.

"Look, Sam." Dean announced in a low, flat voice. "We aren't going _back_ to anything, okay?"

"Yeah? Then tell me how long you slept." Sam demanded.

Dean's jaw tensed as he narrowed his eyes, guilty and dangerous, on Sam.

"So I wasn't sleepy." Dean growled. "You gonna send me back to bed, Mom?"

The conversation was getting out of control too fast. Sam knew if he didn't do something fast, they would end up in a full blown fight.

"I'm just worried, man. I-" Sam said, trying to backpedal.

"I think I'm old enough to take care of myself." Dean interrupted sharply. "Let it go."

Sam set his shoulders to face Dean and was about to retort when Bobby appeared. Perceiving the tension, the older hunter shook his head and walked directly to the coffee pot not bothering to look at either of the brothers.

"Break it up." He grunted roughly, "It's too damn early for you boys to be at each other's throats."

The brothers held each other's gaze for a few seconds longer, but Sam finally caved and fixed his eyes on the floor. Dean gulped the rest of his cup of coffee down moodily.

"There's aspirin in that drawer." Bobby nodded at Sam, after giving him a quick once over.

_Yes, please_… Aspirin sounded great. Sam retrieved the bottle and palmed a couple of the white pills. He felt Dean's eyes on him as he chased them with water, but refused to turn around, unwilling to see how his brother's annoyance had been replaced by concern and guilt at not having offered him the painkillers before.

"Thanks, Bobby." Sam said, forcing himself to look at Bobby in the eye.

The older hunter's expression wavered subtly under his weathered appearance and Sam thought Bobby got the apology that accompanied his words of gratitude.

"Don't mention it." Bobby said simply, with a shake of his head.

Sam nodded and managed a small smile. As he turned back towards Dean, Sam found his brother watching the conversation with a hint of curiosity. Sam looked down again and busied himself washing the glass in the sink. He wasn't mad anymore, and arguing with Dean always drained his energy. Bobby was right: it was too damn early for it.

"Found anything?" Bobby asked, gesturing toward the papers scattered on the tabletop.

Sam looked over at his brother, vaguely remembering that Dean had tried to tell him something before Sam had jumped all over him with his guns loaded. Then Sam's eyes sought the coffee that was left in the pot and made a hesitant step towards it.

"Well, yeah." Dean drawled. "I was just about to tell Mr. Good Vibes here, when he decided to be a jerk."

Sam glared at him half-heartedly, but accepted the cup of coffee that Dean had poured for him the second he had noticed that Sam had wanted some.

"What've you got?" Sam asked contritely.

Dean continued to play hard to get for a few seconds longer, but Sam could see he was excited and the accomplished sparkle in Dean's eyes was so contagious that Sam found himself smiling.

"I think I got us a witness." He finally said.

"A witness?" Bobby repeated, interested.

"Well, a victim. But one who is still alive." Dean smiled. "One we can interrogate."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

They drove through the city in silence. Although the lack of conversation wasn't exactly tense, Dean couldn't say it was comfortable either. Sam had done nothing but stare sullenly through the window for the last five minutes, and it was getting on Dean's nerves.

"Which street?" Dean asked, wanting to break the silence.

"Second one on the left." Sam replied, his eyes not budging from the window.

Dean sighed, he hated fighting with Sam. Even if sometimes it was fun to piss his little brother off ―not only fun, but his _birth right_―, it was when the fight was about something important, that it definitely sucked. Recently, every time they fought, a part of Dean feared than Sam would snap and walk away. Even now, inside the car, despite the fact that neither of them was truly mad, Sam had that air of broody unhappiness that made Dean wonder if his sibling was thinking of a way to tell him that he had had enough and was leaving. Sam never let things go. With him, there was no _the argument ends here, now let's move on_.

But damn, Dean had been pissed. First, because Sam had been right about the fact that he hadn't slept. But that had only been because Sam had been agitated during most of the night, settling only when Dean had placed a hand on Sam's chest and hushed him softly throughout the night. Not that he blamed Sam for his sleeplessness. Actually, Dean had welcomed the distraction, because he could feel the shadows of his own nightmares lurking inside his mind, waiting for the second sleep would claim him and pounce on his psyche. It had been a crappy day and Dean honestly hadn't wanted to dream on top of everything else.

Since he was going to stay up, what was wrong with doing some research? So what?

He had found the name of Phoebe Walter in the local hospital records. The woman was 31 years-old, mother of one, and had been admitted after having attempted suicide. According to her records, she presented all the symptoms of schizophrenia, including voices in her head, but she had no history of mental illnesses. As a result of trying to kill herself a second time in her hospital room, she had been moved to the psych ward.

It fit the pattern, and Dean was sure that talking to her would shed some light on the case. With that lead in mind, he had impatiently waited for Sam to wake up so that Dean could tell him what he had found. He wasn't expecting a "_thank you_" and was way past the need of any kind of "_Good job_"praise. But what he _hadn't_ expected was Sam jumping down his throat the moment the younger had laid eyes on Dean.

_Fuck you, I'm not a kid__._

Sam was worried, but Dean needed some space. Pulling an all-nighter wasn't the healthiest of things he had ever done, but it wasn't such a big deal. Sam was overreacting because not so long ago Dean had been _very_ messed up. And Dean... he was trying.

He wished Sam could see that.

"It's here, Dean." Sam announced quietly.

Dean nodded, glancing at the large hospital building that appeared before them. Once the Impala was parked, Dean met his brother's eyes and flashed him a smile. He couldn't stay mad when Sam said his name like that, and even if he could be, he wouldn't want to. Sam was hovering, yes, but if the tables were turned, Dean would be downright smothering his little brother. Even his double standards had their limits.

Funny, how that thought had crystallized in Dean's mind sounding like Sam's all-knowing voice.

"So what's our story?" Dean questioned aloud. "We could just slip in if she was a regular patient, but I'm guessing there will be some kind of security in the loony wing."

"Dean..." Sam admonished.

"What? They're loonies, aren't they?"

The truth was that psych wards made Dean nervous. They weren't regular hospital areas with regular patients; those were just unpleasant and unfortunately familiar for the Winchesters. Psych wards spoke of loss of control, of flipping out. Lights out, down you go: caged in a nice padded room. It scared Dean in a primal way to stare into vacant eyes and see nobody home or worse, finding a completely changed person. He knew how it felt to be so close to losing it, and it sometimes hurt worse to hang on to sanity than to let it go. Dean secretly feared that one day he wouldn't be strong enough. One day, it would be him in there, staring at his reflection in the mirror, not able to recognize the person he had become.

Sam just rolled eyes, mercifully oblivious to Dean's thoughts.

"Well, I've been thinking about how we should do it." Sam started, chewing on his lip.

_So I g__uess he wasn't thinking about leaving me after all._

"I think we should keep it simple. Something like… med students."

"Good old essay alibi?"

"Yep."

"Fine by me. It's gonna be on you, though, college boy."

Sam shot him a mortified look, but agreed to lead the way in.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

It wasn't too hard getting into the psych ward after all. Apparently, several students from a nursing program in the community college nearby dropped by regularly to ask some questions about the committed patients, so nobody raised an eyebrow when Sam and Dean showed up. The only rules were listening to the doctor and not disturbing the patients or their families. Since the brothers had explained that they were working on an essay about schizophrenia in connection with suicide, they were ushered to Phoebe's doctor; a silver haired man in his fifties named Fisher. They were lucky, the doctor was kind enough to talk to them.

"You need a lot of patience in dealing with this kind of disorder." Fisher remarked. He had a grave voice that to Dean sounded very professor-like. "They never improve as fast as you'll like and at times it is frustrating and overwhelming. The key is you can't let it get to you. You need to take a deep breath, a step back; this allows you to realize that their illness is not as random as it seems. Most of time, the episodes are predictable. If you can find a pattern, you will find your answers."

"Answers?" Dean asked curiously.

"A way to treat them." Fisher clarified.

The three of them stood before a wide observation window, watching one of the ward's rooms of the ward. There was a woman stretched on the bed, presumably asleep, and a man sat next to her, holding her hand. From where they stood, they could see the soft cuffs restraining her to the bed. Dean felt a shiver run down his spine.

"We're keeping her sedated." Fisher said sadly. So much for breathing deep and stepping back, Dean thought. "That's her husband in there. He always visits her before taking their daughter to school. Then he goes to work and as soon as he can he's back here again. I bet if he could he'd be here his every waking hour."

"I guess it's better for him to keep his mind distracted." Sam said sympathetically.

"Yeah, absolutely." Fisher agreed with a nod.

"Why are you keeping her sedated?" Dean asked cautiously.

The doctor rubbed his chin absently as he answered. "It's the only way to keep her calm. We've tried to take her off the drugs twice. While she's still groggy, the psychosis doesn't seem to have such a strong hold on her, and you can manage to reason with her. But as the sedatives wear off, she grows more agitated. It's as if she felt real _physical_ pain. She attempted to kill herself during one of the episodes. Now, we don't want to risk it until she's more stable."

Dean felt slightly claustrophobic at the idea of being drugged, rendered a doped up shadow of himself in fear that he could go berserk. Out of the corner of his eye, the older Winchester saw Sam grimace, and guessed his little brother was thinking the same thing. The siblings shared a brief look, then Sam put on his geeky mask and addressed Dr. Fisher again.

"And when she was coherent, did she say _why _she wanted to commit suicide?"

Fisher shrugged helplessly.

"She suffers from some kind of schizophrenic-paranoid disorder, that fact is certain. She's delusional and hears voices inside her head, the classic symptoms."

"So you think she's n-" Dean bit his tongue as Sam looked daggers at him. "...Not sane?" He reformulated, with a subtle eye roll he knew his brother would catch. "I mean, would you say that the reason she wants to die responds to a physical disorder or a mental one?"

Sam winced, most likely thinking that Dean was pushing too hard and too obviously. Which, okay… Dean had to admit he wasn't being particularly smooth. But Fisher delivered his answer without a shadow of suspicion, as if the question had already been bouncing around his head for a few days.

"Well, her symptoms are certainly physical. The pain she wakes up to and the way her temp and pulse shoot up..." Dr. Fisher shook his head, contemplatively. "There was no trace of any substance in her organism that could cause those symptoms. A simple depression wouldn't manifest like that. Even a deep depression... It wouldn't be so sudden or raging as her symptoms are. So yes, I don't think this is just emotional or psychosomatic, there has to be _something_ inside her that is…"

"Broken." Sam completed softly.

Fisher glanced at Dean's brother, pursing his lips in agreement.

"As of now, I haven't been able to figure out what. She hasn't responded to the usual dopamine suppressor treatment. We're trying antidepressants now, but they'll take a bit longer to take effect, so it's safer to keep her under until they do."

Sam chewed the inner part of his cheek and looked fleetingly at Dean, who nodded. It fit the pattern. All the victims had shown no previous symptoms, until one day they suddenly went crazy, hallucinations and haunting voices included. It was no wonder that Dr. Fisher couldn't find what was broken. It was highly unlikely that he was looking in the right places.

Inside the room, Phoebe's husband got up, catching the brother's attention. He gave his wife's hand a parting squeeze, and headed for the door. Dean's muscles clenched, unconsciously readying himself to flee, and he noticed that Sam did the same. However, both brothers reined in their shared instinct, and kept calm and collected, as the good nursing students they were supposed to be. As Phoebe's husband exited the room, Dean lowered his gaze respectfully. The worried relative had an exhausted air of desolation, and a haunted look that Dean had seen too often in too many people's eyes; including both his and his brother's.

When the husband saw Dr. Fisher, he straightened up slightly and walked towards the trio, although he barely acknowledged Sam and Dean's presence next to the doctor.

"Doctor." He greeted in a rough voice.

"Nathan." Fisher gave him a warm smile. "How is she doing this morning?"

Nathan shrugged wearily and glanced towards the door. "She's the same. But I think she senses when I'm there, you know?"

"I'm sure she does. How are you holding up?" The doctor asked gently.

"I'm…I'm fine." Phoebe's husband dismissed the question easily, no matter how much of a lie it was. Dean felt Sam's gaze on him and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, moving closer to his brother. "Listen, can I talk to you for a minute?" Nathan asked the doctor.

The latter nodded and replied: "Sure thing, let's go to my office." He placed a hand on Nathan's shoulder and turned to Sam and Dean. "Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me for a second? But I've got more cases to discuss with you if you want. I'll meet you at the cafeteria in half an hour."

"Of course, go ahead." Sam replied quickly.

"Not a problem, go ahead, thanks." Dean added.

When Nathan and Fisher disappeared down the desert hallway, the Winchesters shared a look. They could make it, the look said. It was early in the morning and there wasn't a soul in sight. The nurse station was around the corner. Maybe they shouldn't go for it, but they were going to anyway.

The hunters slipped into Phoebe's room inconspicuously, somewhat reluctant to disturb the sedated woman's slumber. Sam went directly to the observation window and pulled the curtain closed, so that they wouldn't have to worry about being spotted right away if anyone passed by. Then, the younger man joined his brother by the bedside. Dean looked at Phoebe's slack features, and felt his heart catch in his throat. He wasn't sure why this particular victim was getting to him so much. Dean had seen people in far worse conditions, mauled, gutted and traumatized beyond imagination. All things considered, Phoebe seemed to be resting peacefully. But there was something eerie in the way her eyes shone dully, eyelids half open in her drug-induced sleep. Her lax lips barely moved as she breathed.

It was death. It was _living_ death.

Pulling in a bracing breath, Dean reached decidedly out for the sedation line to close the drip. Certainly, it said something about their history of hospital stays and hospital _escapades_ that he knew exactly how it was done.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked warily from behind Dean's back.

"What does it look that I'm doing?" Dean deadpanned.

"But the doctor said she would be in pain..." Sam protested.

Dean fisted his hands to stop himself from taking a swing at his brother. Did Sam think that Dean didn't know that? Thiswas the reason they had come and his little brother knew it just as well as Sam did. He was just being… _Sam _about it.

"He also said you could reason with her for a few minutes. Sam, look at her. We can't leave her like this." Dean gritted out, trying to control his frustration.

Sam's Adam's apple bobbled. He looked slightly sick, but didn't say anything as he helped Dean to interrupt the intravenous drip.

"Keep watch." Dean ordered.

The younger hesitated, but Dean raised his eyes to Sam's in a silent gesture of command. Sam swallowed and obeyed as Dean grabbed Phoebe's shoulders and shook her gently.

"Phoebe? C'mon, sweetheart. Time to wake up."

An almost imperceptible twitch was all he got for his efforts. Dean ran a hand through his hair and exhaled softly. His heart was pounding as fast as if he had been running. Hell, if he could, he would run now.

"Keep trying, it'll take a minute." Sam said encouragingly, from his look-out position by the window.

Dean rolled his eyes at the obvious remark from his always helpful brother, whose eyes, by the way, were set on Dean instead of the hallway. Even though Dean should have admonished his sibling for it, he didn't. It was too cold on Dean's side of the room to wish Sam's warm gaze away.

"Phoebe..." Dean tried again, "It's okay...It's okay now, just open your eyes."

The woman hummed a faint sound and her eyelashes fluttered.

"That's it, that's it." Dean encouraged, "You're doing great, wake up now, that's it..."

/

Phoebe groaned and her hands trembled as she attempted to raise them and the restrains hindered her. A new whimper emerged, followed by a series of increasingly fast breaths. Dean could empathize with that. Waking up disoriented and in pain, to find yourself tied to a bed was a good reason to panic. Remembering that her husband had been holding the woman's hand, Dean took her shaking fingers in a light grasp and was surprised at the strength with which she gripped back.

"Nate?" She whispered.

Dean noticed that the inner side of her wrist was slightly red and bruised, despite the loose cuff. Queasily, the hunter swallowed and searched Sam's gaze.

_Help me._

Window forgotten, Sam advanced toward the bed and placed himself next to Dean, as the woman's eyes opened half-mast and fixed them with a glazed look.

"Hey." Sam whispered, giving her a small smile.

Phoebe just stared at them for a couple of seconds. Then her eyes focused and immediately widened, as she flinched on the mattress.

"Who are you?" She croaked.

She tugged at her restrains and her breath hitched when she realized that she couldn't get away. Dean let go of her and raised his palms pacifying, keeping one eye on the monitors in case they beeped too loudly.

"No, hey hey. It's alright." Sam tried to appease her, crouching low so that his formidable height wouldn't make him tower over the skittish patient. "We're doctors, we're here to help."

"Help _me…_?" The woman asked.

Her voice sounded terrible, like breeze over sandpaper. Dean reached out for the bottle of water that was on the bedside table and passed it to Sam, who gently helped her take a couple of gulps.

"Phoebe." Dean prompted. "We really want to help, but we need to know what happened."

The woman slid confused, glassy eyes to Dean and she frowned slightly.

"What happened?" She asked, uncomprehendingly.

"What happened…when you got sick." Sam provided.

Phoebe swallowed hard and her frown deepened. Under the grogginess, Dean started to see some signs of discomfort and he thought about holding her hand again. The impulse surprised him. He didn't consider himself especially tender, but there was something in the woman's frail condition that moved him deeply.

"I got them…" Phoebe mustered weakly.

"You-" Sam narrowed his eyes at her. "You got them?"

"Got what?" Dean pushed.

"I got…" Phoebe trailed off. Her forehead wrinkled and she let out a grunt, "No… No, no, no…"

Sam glanced at Dean, alarmed. Suddenly, the woman arched from the bed and her arms flew up, halted by the restrains, eliciting a pained whimper. With a lump in his throat, Dean made up his mind and grabbed Phoebe's hands, gently but firmly. He wasn't holding them, so much as pinning them to the bed, preventing her from hurting herself.

"Phoebe?" Sam tried again to get through to her.

"Hurts…" She moaned.

"What hurts?"

"My…my head" She panted. "Oh God, _please_ make it stop…"

Dean swallowed hard and applied a bit more of pressure on the woman's wrists, to force her attention back to him.

"We will." The older Winchester promised. "But you need to tell us what happened first."

"Dean, I don't think she-" Sam started.

"Phoebe." Dean continued intently, ignoring Sam's protest. "Look at me."

The woman's eyes were wet and clouded with pain as they zeroed in on Dean.

"What did you take?" The hunter insisted.

"Earrings…"

"What earrings?" Dean pressed.

"The earrings, at the store…I'm sorry, Nate, I'm _so_ sorry!" She cried. "Please, untie me. I won't do it again. I promise."

She was struggling now, albeit weakly, and the brothers shared a helpless look.

_Earrings? Seriously?_

Maybe she meant some ancient, cursed, Native American earrings _or something fancy like that_. Phoebe couldn't be talking about a pair of harmless earrings at a store… no, that just couldn't be it.

"You took the earrings?" Sam repeated. "You mean…you stole them?"

The woman's cries intensified and her head tossed and turned, left and right.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" She babbled.

Sam shook his head, but then he seemed to think of something, he vacated his spot next to Phoebe's head, and retrieved the patient's medical history at the foot of the hospital bed. In the meantime, Dean was doing all he could to try and appease Phoebe.

"Calm down, it's alright now." The older brother tried uselessly.

"No. Make it stop, _please_…" Phoebe wept.

"Make what stop?"

"The voices. Oh, my God, they know. They keep saying that I should-" She arched back in the bed again, startling Dean. "Please, make her go away!"

_Her?_

Dean's heart did a somersault at the unexpected detail, and he shot Sam a look. His little brother nodded.

"Who is she, Phoebe?" Dean pushed one last time, knowing that whatever she answered would be the last thing they took from her.

Phoebe wriggled her rope-burnt hands in agony. This was torture, no way around it, and it was making Dean sick.

"The girl…she saw me. She-" Phoebe whimpered again, her lucidity fading as pain overtook her awareness. "She… at the store, she saw me and she knew… I'm no good. I'm no good."

"Dean." Sam called to his brother, as he read though the medical record. "She's got a history of kleptomania."

Dean nodded without looking at his sibling.

"Open the drip, Sam." Dean ordered.

Sam went around the bed and restarted the sedative.

"The girl who saw you, do you know who she is?" Dean whispered softly, leaning over Phoebe before the drugs pulled her down completely.

"No, I…Sh- She works at the station." Phoebe said, tears tracking down her temple and onto the pillow. "She looked at me with those green eyes…She…I didn't… But she…I'm s-sorry…"

The woman relaxed back onto the bed, eyes dulling beneath a layer of wetness as her voice died off. The silence that ensued was adrenaline-charged and crackled in the air.

"Dean?" Sam called timidly.

The older hunter raised his eyes and met Sam's in a burning gaze. Dean still had Phoebe's hands in his, and while hers were already lax, his were shaking.

"I know who she is." Dean growled.

"Who? The girl at the station?"

"_Police_ station." Dean remarked. "You were right, there was something there. And I know it's her. I can _feel_ it, Sam."

"But who?" Sam asked, struggling to catch up with his brother's line of thought.

"Trisha the receptionist." Dean's eyes flared. "Those green eyes aren't something you forget."

Dean walked purposefullly to the door, and heard Sam trotting behind him. Before the older sibling was out of the room, Sam grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. Dean realized how on edge he was when he had to repress the impulse to turn around and bat Sam's hand away forcefully.

"Wait." The younger whispered.

Sam was peeking through the curtain. Despite the urge to bolt to the door that ran all over Dean's body, he forced himself to relax under Sam's hold.

"Okay, let's go." Sam gave the all-clear by letting go of his brother.

Both Winchesters slipped out of the room, and hurried down the hall. As they walked, Dean didn't need to look at Sam to feel his little brother's curious and slightly concerned gaze on him.

"So, this Trisha girl... What about her?" Sam asked, his long legs keeping him next to Dean.

"She has to be a witch. It's the only thing that makes sense." Dean said vehemently. "There was something off about her, but I couldn't put my finger on it."

"You think she saw Phoebe stealing the earrings, and then went all vigilante on her? I'd say it's a bit of an overreaction, even for a Nazi of justice like Trisha" Sam questioned. "And what about the dead cop, Elena? She couldn't save his partner, but that's not a crime."

"She had _killed_ the man who shot him, remember?" Dean retorted. "We were only focused on her partner, because even at the station nobody gave a damn about the thug she had killed. But to someone who sees things only in black and white, Elena would have been no better than the criminal that hung himself in prison."

"And the rest of victims? How would you connect them to her?" Sam insisted.

"I don't know, okay?" Dean hissed, whirling around to face Sam.

They had just turned a corner, and stood in a wide hallway that was beginning to swarm with activity. Some heads turned curiously toward the brothers; Sam looked down. Dean's jaw twitched, and he averted his eyes too, taking a deep breath. Then, two people caught Dean's attention, effectively diverting his anger from Sam. The younger, sensing Dean's change of focus, turned too. Phoebe's husband was down the corridor, walking towards the exit, holding a little girl's hand.

"Dean." Sam turned back to his brother, with sad eyes.

The older brother's gaze was fixed on the broken father and the confused child as they left the premises. They looked dejected even from afar and Dean understood them with such painful, first-hand clarity that his heart caught.

"I need your help, Sam." Dean whispered. "I know it's her and I need you to believe me."

Sam sighed quietly and laced his fingers at the back of his neck, closing his eyes as he pulled in a breath. When he opened them again, his gaze was determined as he met Dean's.

"I believe you." Sam assured.

Sam's trust lifted a weight from Dean's shoulders. The older Winchester nodded, gratitude softening his expression.

"Then go." Dean ordered. "I want you to find out everything you can about her. _Everything_, alright?"

"What?" Sam frowned. "Where are _you _going?"

Dean squared his shoulders, and started walking towards the exit, without looking at his little brother.

"I'm going to her place. Maybe I'll find something." Dean said matter-of-factly.

"Are you out of your mind?" Sam asked tersely, hurrying after Dean. "How do you even know where she lives?"

"It won't be hard to find out, Sammy, give me some credit." Dean retorted, rolling his eyes.

"Dean, no." Sam ground his teeth together, determined to hold his ground. "You can't go there alone."

"Oh, and why is that?" Dean challenged, unflinchingly.

"Because it's dangerous!" Sam exclaimed, his tone suggesting that the reason should be quite obvious to Dean. "We don't know what we are dealing with."

"It's ten in the morning. She will be working, okay?" Dean reassured him.

"But-"

"Sam, enough!" Dean cut him off. "We don't have time for this. _Phoebe_ doesn't have time for this."

"Don't you think I know that?" Sam shot back.

"Then what's your problem?" Dean raised his arms, eyes ablaze.

_Say it. Come on, say it…_

Dean knew, of course: Sam didn't want to let him go alone. Any other time, Dean would have found his brother's concern merely annoying, but after their fight in the morning, the older didn't appreciate that Sam doubted his capacity. So yeah, he wished that Sam would say it, already: that Dean was _weak_, that Dean _couldn't_ do it. Because if Sam finally said it, Dean would have an excuse to tear him a new one, and demand back some measure of respect.

"I… " Sam hesitated, clearly upset.

Unfortunately for Dean's need to snap at someone, his sibling knew Dean well enough to sense a trap before he walked into one. Sam he was torn between his worry and not wanting to fight again. Not a fun place to be, Dean admitted. Sam's obvious distress at the dilemma deflated Dean's bitterness. He was projecting his own fear of failure on Sam, and it wasn't fair.

"Sorry." Dean muttered.

Sam shook his head, dismissing the apology automatically.

"If that's what you want, we'll do it your way." The younger caved. "Just…be careful, alright?"

He sounded so disheartened that Dean wanted to kick himself.

"Take the car." Dean said needlessly. "I'll walk." Not that Dean was ready to drive, anyway. But he could certainly use a walk, right now.

"Call me when you want me to pick you up?" Sam asked timidly, with a hopeful tilt of his head.

_Ah, damn, Sammy._

Sometimes it was no wonder that Dean loved the kid to death.

"Sure." Dean gave him a conciliatory smile. "I will."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

As Dean had told Sam, it wasn't hard to find out Trisha's address. Her name appeared in the phonebook, as if she had nothing to hide. Dean scouted the two-story building from a little park in front of the property. After a while, he approached the house and peered discreetly through the windows to make sure that nobody was home, as well as surveying the small garden in the front, and the piece of backyard that was visible from the wood fence. He couldn't find any plant that hinted at the use of witchcraft. There were no sigils or wards either, and the lock was a joke.

The house was quiet and Dean searched all the rooms in the first floor, quickly and efficiently. There was no traces of EMF, but he didn't expect to find any so it didn't surprise him. The second floor was also clean, but the hunter was meticulous and checked every book, drawer and closet he could find. He even checked the walls, looking for secret compartments.

Nothing. Zilch. Nada.

It didn't make sense. Dean wasn't actually expecting a prominent shrine with blood chalices, and the corresponding gutted toad. But witches had their perks and they usually owned books of dark magic, Ouija boards, charms… Trisha didn't even have a lousy candle. She lived in a regular house, with regular furniture, full of regular stuff. Judging by the framed pictures scattered around, there was nothing unusual about her family either.

What if he was wrong?

Dean refused to believe it. Instead of giving up, he set his mind to going over each and every room once again. But as he moved into the hallway, he heard the front door open downstairs. The hunter froze and held his breath, cursing his bad luck, as he heard Trisha's voice.

_T__urns out she wasn't at work, after all._ A fact he wouldn't be confessing to Sam.

Trisha wasn't alone. From what Dean picked up on, she was with another woman, but he couldn't grasp what they were saying. He mentally went through the rooms he had been in to evaluate possible exits, but the windows he had found were too high to just _jump._ It didn't mean that he couldn't do it if the situation was dire, but he would rather not risk breaking a leg. _That_ would definitely be hard to keep from his brother.

If the girls stayed in the living room a couple of minutes though, he could go downstairs and slip into the kitchen unseen, and go out through the back door. With this plan in mind, Dean padded around the wooden floor, carefully so that it wouldn't creak. When he got to the stairs, he focused his senses on the first floor to try to locate the girls.

"That was stupid, Meg." Trisha was saying in an admonishing tone, "I heard that now the FBI is on our case."

"I know, okay? But that jerk was making her suffer and I wasn't going to just watch and do nothing. You wouldn't have stayed out of it either. Or are we gonna talk about the shoplifter?"

Trisha grunted something, but if there were actual words within the sound, Dean lost them.

"Besides…" The woman called Meg continued, "How was I to know that the feds would get involved? I mean, this shouldn't be their jurisdiction, right?"

"Don't worry about FBI." Trisha said toning her anger down a little. "I'm pretty sure most of them are fair game too."

The coldness in her voice reached Dean's core, like icy fingers touching his soul. He nervously shook off the sensation. Apparently, Trisha wasn't very fond of cops, but feds wouldn't be getting Christmas cards from her either.

Dean reached the landing of the stairs on the first floor. A partition wall kept him out of sight from the living room where the two girls were talking. The chance of running was within his grasp, but Dean hesitated. Even though it wasn't the way he had planned, he was learning a lot. First, that Trisha was indeed involved in the case. Second, that she wasn't the only one, which was a relevant piece of information. Having more than one witch could explain why most of the victims seemed so unrelated and unconnected.

He knew he should just leave, undetected, and regroup with Sam and rehash the new information. But, damn, they were right there...

"I'm just saying that we have to be careful. We're being impulsive and he's not going to like it." Trisha spoke again.

"Yeah, but it's so _hard_." Her friend complained fervently.

"I know." Trisha agreed.

"There's so much evil out there." Meg declared with an edge to her voice that was hard to identify. "How did we not see it before?"

Dean made up his mind. He _had _to see the other woman, it was important. He didn't plan to attack them; that would be irresponsible without knowing what he was up against. But Dean needed to get a visual.

And why was he justifying himself again?

The hunter approached the arch that connected the corridor to the living room, stealthy as a cat. Very carefully, he peeked inside. They were there, on the couch. Trisha was as beautiful as he remembered her to be. The blond woman with her was...oddly familiar.

"I know, Meg. But we're doing the right thing now."

_Meg__... Megan? As in Julie's friend?_

It was the woman who had driven Ronal's girlfriend home, only to find the guy ripped to shreds, with another woman! Of course they had thought Julie would be the one with issues. They had barely spared Megan a glance.

He had to tell Sam.

"Don't you sometimes feel like...there's somewhere else, someone else we should..." Meg trailed off, as she slipped her hand inside Trisha's and leaned languidly against her.

Dean's eyebrows arched impossibly higher when Trisha responded by ghosting a kiss on Megan's throat. Trisha's free hand inched slowly up Megan's tight.

"Yeah, but we'll find them all. You'll see, we always do."

Megan arched her back, without taking her eyes from Trisha's green ones. The latter kissed her softly on the mouth.

And Dean was so telling Sam _that_.

As tempting as the show was, the rational part of Dean's mind was already satisfied, so he peeled himself away from the wall and moved toward the kitchen. When he found himself finally safe on the street, he released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. His heart pounded madly, and even as his adrenaline faded, he couldn't stop an amused smile from blossoming on his lips.

"Wow." He sighed.

Okay, that had been hot, _and_ enlightening. And although Dean still didn't know how Trisha and Megan were pushing people into offing themselves, it was a start. He took out his cell, and scrolled down to Sam's number as he crossed the street. His brother picked up on the first ring.

"Hey Sammy, you're not going to believe this…"

Dean didn't see the car before it crashed into him. All he registered was the impact and the pain as he rolled over the roof of the car. He thought maybe he heard Sam yelling his name through the phone. And he went down with the odd certainty that, before he was hit, he hadn't heard the sound of brakes.

* * *

_TBC_


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay, guys. A slightly shorter chapter this time. I hope you like it!**

**Thanks again, Megan, for the work you're putting here. Especially given how friggin' frantic RL is!**

**L xx**

* * *

_**Unleashed Fury**_

**V**

Darkness rolled around him, vicious and oppressing. His thunderous heartbeat hammered inside his temples. Somehow, in the recesses of his mind, he knew that he was supposed to hear music, yet the painful throb in his head had drowned out any other sound. He wanted to open his eyes. He _needed_ to, because terrible things happened when he let down his guard.

_Stop it… Stop the car…_

A light flickered in the distance. It was small at first, but it became increasingly blinding, piercing his brain like a sharp knife being plunged repeatedly between his eyes. He groaned, or at least he thought he did. His whole body stiffened, muscles screaming as he tried to stop the inevitable. But his limbs remained unresponsive, he ached all over and he couldn't comprehend why. The one thing he knew was that he needed his hands to obey, and for his foot to step on the brakes.

_Turn around…Swerve…Please…_

A sob caught in his throat. He gritted his teeth and fought harder, but the light was merciless. Soon, her face shimmered in the middle of the glow, innocent and surprised. Accusing and terrified. Coming closer, and closer.

Dean screamed.

He opened his eyes with a jolt, and was met with only white. The pain that enveloped him completely and relentlessly made his stomach roll. Something beeped on his left side, and he became aware of the people around him, their voices way _too_ close, hands were trying to restrain him. Dean tried to roll away from the foreign touches, but every ounce of him hurt with fiery intensity. Letting out a muffled whimper, he squinted at the prying hands, and saw that they belonged to people in white scrubs. Were they doctors? Why was he at the hospital?

"No…Get her." He protested, confused. "Help her…"

Why were they bothering with him? _God, just…_

"Save her…Save the girl." Dean pleaded.

Voices started to filter through his ears. Useless attempts to keep him calm, accompanied the hands that pinned him down.

"No!" Dean heard himself yelling.

His head swam as pain seized him more strongly, and he felt bile rising to his throat. Everything was blurry and Dean was sure he was going to pass out, until another voice reached him.

"Let me in." The voice was demanding.

_Sammy._

"Mr. Harrison, I told you to wait outside and-" A stranger's voice confronted his brother.

"I said Let. Me. In." Sam growled.

"Mr. Harrison, don't make me call security."

"Get out of my way right now, or I swear-" Sam started threateningly.

"Let him in." Another familiar voice intervened. "His brother needs him, just let him go."

Sam was there, he would fix it. _Sammy, tell them to get her…_ Dean thought feverishly.

Suddenly, the hands that held him vanished, and Dean teetered dazedly on the narrow hospital bed. Unbalanced, he toppled over, but something stopped him. Something soft, and warm, and familiar.

"Sam?" Dean murmured, relief leaking into his voice.

"I'm here." His brother's whisper sounded close to his ear.

Sam's hold was grounding, non-oppressive. He was familiar with Dean's balance points, and he instinctively knew how to support his brother as Dean wavered.

"Sam...Sammy...we have to-" Dean babbled desperately. "They...tell them that-"

"It was a nightmare, Dean." Sam kept his tone low and soothing, for Dean's ears only. "She's not here and you're okay. You're okay."

Sam squeezed the side of Dean's neck gently, and tightened his grasp on his brother's elbow as Dean struggled to catch up to reality, and get past the stabbing pain in his skull.

"A...nightmare?" Dean panted.

When the older leaned a bit further into Sam, the latter remained steady taking Dean's extra weight, as he kept Dean blocked from everyone else's view. It was Sam's way of giving his brother some room to breathe. Sam's hand shifted from the side of Dean's neck to the back of his big brother's head, and hovered over a bandaged area that was especially tender.

"Just a nightmare, I promise. You banged your head pretty bad, man." Sam reassured, concern blending with sympathy in his tone. "You with me now?"

The warmth of Sam's palm over his pulsing head seemed to provide a marginal sensation of relief to the monstrous throbbing behind his eyelids. Dean's body sagged at the reprieve, and his eyes slipped closed to allow the brief slice of safe darkness temper his spinning nerves. His mind was getting clearer as the seconds ticked by, and while he still didn't remember what had happened, it was becoming easier to differentiate reality from dream. In a way, the blow of landing in the real world hurt even worse, because for a second Dean had believed that he was back on that road; that he had been given a second chance to make things right.

"I'm fine." Dean replied, hating how his voice trembled. "Give me a minute."

As he couldn't hear the doctors or nurses anymore, Dean risked cracking open his eyes, and glimpsed behind Sam's back. He could see Bobby exchanging heated words with a white-coated man.

"They wouldn't let me in." Sam explained, upon noticing where Dean's attention was. The younger sounded chagrined, but unapologetic. "I'm sorry that Bobby's taking the brunt of it."

Dean squinted toward his friend, as Bobby tried to reason with the doctor with obviously shrinking patience. He also realized that Bobby kept his back to the door, as if he was _protecting _the entrance. Dean smiled a little at that, and squeezed Sam's biceps.

_Thank you_.

"Better?" The younger asked.

"What happened?" Dean questioned, as he let go of Sam slowly. His battered body had very interesting ideas about movement at the moment.

"You… uh…" Sam trailed off, as he helped Dean get himself upright. "You got hit by a car."

The wet laugh that escaped Dean surprised both brothers, and it was all he could do not to keep laughing. It wouldn't sit right with his concussion, to begin with, and especially, because Sam had that pinched look of his that announced to the world that he was worried. Dean didn't want to make it worse by having a hysterical fit.

"_I_ got hit by a car?" He repeated incredulously, still masochistically amused. "Man, if I believed in justice..."

"You _do_ believe in justice." Sam retorted flatly, with no humor in his voice.

_Killjoy._

"Lie down." Sam ordered.

The younger had _that_ voice. The one that anyone else would interpret as being mad, but Winchesters knew it meant _You scared me to death, you son of a bitch_. Since the line between fierce fear and rage was sketchy for Winchesters, Dean chose to obey him. Dean's eyes found solace behind closed lids the second his head hit the pillow.

"Is the driver okay?" Dean asked gravely.

He sensed Sam's stance shifting even without seeing it, and the younger man's minute hesitation almost prompted Dean to open his eyes again. Sam, though, beat him to it.

"He fled the scene."

Dean's lips twitched and _man_...he would have laughed again if Sam hadn't been watching him like a hawk.

_Justice is justice is justice..._

"You didn't see anything?" Sam asked, a note of lethal tension in his voice.

Sam wanted to know about the driver, Dean realized. If the younger Winchester ever found him, it wouldn't be pretty. Again, _if irony killed_... Dean opened his eyes and fixed Sam a serene look, as he shook his head.

"I wasn't really looking, man. I was trying to put some distance between myself and Trisha's house, and I was distracted."

"You were calling me." Sam said cryptically. Then averted his eyes and started to pace. "I heard the crash, and then you didn't answer me." He finished in a whisper.

Sam's jaw was clenched so hard it had to hurt. He was ramrod straight as he shook his head, and paced more. It was probably the only way he could think of to release his pent-up stress, other than punching a hole in the wall. Which, given the fact that the doctor was still hovering at the door, didn't seem to be the best of ideas.

"Did you find anything?" Sam blurted abruptly.

The change of topic made Dean's head reel, but okay, he got it. Sam's composure was hanging by a thread, and if the younger kept dwelling on the fact that Dean could have died on him, he would break apart. In any case, it wasn't the time to talk about Trisha. Dean needed to take stock and clear his mind first. And Sam… Sam needed to take a breath and calm down before he had a heart-attack.

"We'll talk later, okay?" Dean said meaningfully. "When can I get out of here?"

"I'm afraid we're keeping you for observation tonight, Mr. Richardson." The doctor cut in.

Dean turned his head immediately, so fast that his head swam. Repressing a groan, he tried to sit up for the stranger, but Sam grasped his wrist, commanding his brother to stay down. Taking it easy was probably a good idea in Dean's case, but it was hard to tell that to years of ingrained instinct. As the doctor that had been arguing with Bobby approached the bed, Sam straightened up, his full height particularly formidable from Dean's position. Bobby stood by the door, an apology in his eyes for not having kept the doctor away for longer. The doctor must have been a real pain, because Bobby's clenched fists indicated that he wished he could deck him.

"Come again?" Dean rasped.

"Observation." The doctor repeated, after shooting Sam a heated glare. "As I told your brother, you need to be here at least until tomorrow."

Dean glanced at Sam, but as he could only see the back of his little brother's head, he could only guess that his brother was fixing a deadly stare at the doctor. The older Winchester felt the impulse to reach out and place a hand between Sam's shoulder blades, convey _Ease off _into his brother's eyes and get out of the hospital. Sam was in full protective mother lion as he only was when he had been veryscared. Seeing that the doctor had gotten in the way of his normally cool and cooperative brother while Sam was in thatparticular state, it was a miracle that the medic still had eyes to glare at Sam with.

Damn, Dean was sorry that he had worried Sam. It seemed that it was all he could do lately.

"I don't think so, Doc. I feel fine." Dean lied. "And I can rest at home."

"Mr. Richardson..." The doctor made a face and shook his head.

"Dean." The older Winchester corrected.

"I don't think you realize that this could have been very serious. If you hadn't jumped at the last second, it could have been much worse. You were very lucky."

And there it was again, the sick urge to laugh.

"Yeah, I'm lucky. _So lucky_." Dean muttered sarcastically.

Obviously, the doctor didn't know how to interpret Dean's ambivalent tone, and for that matter, neither did Bobby. Sam turned halfway and met his brother's eyes, his lips forming a flat line. He had caught onto Dean's bitter innuendo, and didn't like it.

"Doctor, I do understand my condition and I am leaving." Dean concluded matter-of-factly.

"Dean..." Sam chimed in.

"Now, if you could bring me whatever it is we have to sign, we'll be on our way." The older sibling finished, ignoring Sam.

"You've been unconscious for the last three hours." The doctor argued. "You shouldn't even be up, even less moving around!"

Dean grimaced at that, while the doctor looked at Sam, searching for an ally. As much tension as there had been between the two of them, the physician recognized in Sam a worried relative who wanted the best for his patient. It was a crack in Sam's armor that overcame his animosity, and painted a sliver of doubt on the young man's face.

"We know how to watch a concussion." Bobby intervened, voice rough and words opportune. "We'll take care of him."

Sam looked down, avoiding the doctor's eyes. Without Sam's support and pinned by Dean's determined gaze, the well-intentioned doctor knew he was defeated.

"A nurse will get you the AMA papers." He grumbled, disheartened.

It had to be hard trying to do your job against a group of stubborn people who didn't know any better. In that sense, Dean could empathize with the doctor and felt almost sorry for the man as he left the room radiating resignation. When the stranger left the room, an awkward silence fell over them. Sam had yet to raise his eyes and Bobby looked hesitant to come closer to the brothers. In the end, it was Dean who broke the silence, by clearing his throat.

"So, where are my clothes?" He asked off-handedly.

His brother's voice seemed to wake Sam up from his staring contest with the tiled-floor, and the younger started to gather their things.

"You sure you're okay, son?" Bobby asked gruffly, gentleness clear under his tone.

"I'm awesome." Dean grinned, even though it took a beat for him to get his friend's face back into focus when Bobby moved.

Sam snorted, but said nothing. He had located a purple plastic bag with Dean's clothes inside and shook its contents onto his brother's bed. The older sibling swallowed subtly at the sight of the dusty jeans and shirt, feeling the throb of his body amplify at the mere thought of bending to put them on.

"Need a hand?" Sam offered knowingly.

Dean glared at him, but it was half-hearted. He certainly could use some help, but Sam was wearing the same expression that had pissed Dean off in the morning. Dean would be damned if he lost his little big brother terrain he had won just recently.

"I can dress myself, thank you." He said, trying to save his dignity.

Sam was taken aback by Dean's moody retort. However, he didn't protest, just backed away a couple of steps with a helpless look plastered on his face, while Dean clumsily reached for his jeans.

"I'll go to see about that AMA, just in case the doctor is calling for reinforcements." Bobby said. Then he searched Sam's eyes. "Make sure the stubborn idiot doesn't face-plant and aggravate it all."

Sam's lips twitched up and the tension in his face eased. The look he returned Bobby was full of gratitude. Dean could only imagine what else Sam and Bobby were saying to each other with their eyes, after how nervous Sam must have been the last few hours, with only Bobby at his side.

"Don't get lost, grandpa!" Dean retorted, as Bobby exited the room.

The older man flipped him the finger, and was gone. Again, the room was filled with silence. After a bracing breath, Dean painstakingly started to get dressed. It was obvious that Sam was vicariously suffering through the process too, concerned and frustrated that Dean was his usual asshole self about denying help. Dean avoided looking at his brother directly, to save them both the aggravation. After all, Dean's body couldn't spare many movements, unless he wanted to pass out.

"So I jumped, huh?" Dean commented casually.

Sam exhaled. "Seems so. Jumped, crashed against the windshield and rolled over the roof of the car before landing on the ground. Your head took the brunt of it." Sam added in a faux emotionless tone. "That's what the witnesses said."

"No shit." Dean grumbled, well aware of the fireworks taking place inside his pounding skull. "Wait. Witnesses?"

"A woman, from a house across the street. She saw you get hit and called an ambulance." Sam answered, his voice still the perfect mask of detachment.

"Oh." Dean muttered, bewildered.

He didn't know what to add. On top of that, his second shirtsleeve was mocking him, out of reach. Every time he tried to twist his arm to get it through the evil flannel sleeve, pain exploded all along his shoulder, travelling up to his neck. His gasp caught Sam's attention, whose self-righteous aloofness wavered, as he observed Dean's struggle helplessly.

"They didn't...They couldn't give you painkillers until you woke up. Because of the concussion." Sam explained, as if asking for forgiveness.

Dean dragged tired eyes to Sam, and felt a pang of guilt blossoming inside his bruised chest. Sammy was a mess, they had been throwing shit at each other all day, and maybe Dean should give them both a break.

"Help me?" He asked timidly.

Sam hurried to his side without having to be asked twice, and gently helped Dean with slow, sure gestures.

"Dean, the witness also said that...that the car, it went straight for you." Sam said darkly. "It was a wide road, and it even had to correct its direction to get you."

"So it wasn't an accident." Dean tiredly unraveled Sam's thoughts.

Sam's casual shrug belied the tension in his jaw and the fire in his gaze, as he kneeled to tie Dean's shoes.

"Are you sure that nobody saw you going in the house? Or leaving it?" Sam asked solemnly, holding Dean's eyes.

"I don't know." The older responded honestly. "I don't think so."

Sam stood up with a tense sigh, and studied Dean critically. The younger Winchester was trying to decide how to help his brother up, without hurting him further, and Dean decided it was a good idea to beat Sam to it.

"Alright, let's go." Dean forced a cheerful tone as he got up on his own steam.

Or rather... tried to stand. Because if he had thought that sitting up in the hospital bed hurt, standing on his feet was pure agony. His headache spiked and rebounded through his entire nervous system, and he saw a flash of the floor rushing to meet him, before his vision faded to white.

"Son of a bitch." He croaked.

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam admonished him.

When Dean was able to blink the room back into focus, nausea had taken a firm hold of his sense of balance, but instead of giving in to it, he clenched his teeth and held on.

"Breathe..."

Sam's voice was behind him, his brother's long and strong arms around his back and chest. Dean realized that it was Sam's strength that was keeping them both upright, not his own rubbery legs, or his equilibrium. Dean tried to tell Sam to back off. A dizzy spell couldn't be worse than having a drink —or a whole six pack— too many, and he had managed to drag himself back from whatever motel they were staying at in worse conditions. Of course, those times his head hadn't threatened to fall off his shoulders until the following morning.

"Ugh." Dean uttered faintly.

"Breathe, Dean." Sam repeated.

"I'll hurl." The older croaked.

"And if you don't breathe, you'll pass out." Sam insisted, unmoved by his brother's protest, even as his hand shifted to rest softly on Dean's stomach with tenderness that contradicted his tone of voice. "You should sit down."

Dean shook his head —and yeah, bad idea— because if he sat now, he had the suspicion that he wouldn't be able to stand up again. As long as Sam didn't let go of him, he _would_ stay on his damn feet.

"Breathe." Sam insisted again.

Dean obeyed, pulling in a careful intake of air. Sam accompanied the movement of his brother's chest with a bracing hand, and the contact helped to unclench Dean's stomach a little.

"That's it." His little brother encouraged calmly. "Deeper now."

Oxygen went a long way in clearing Dean's vision, which quickly stopped swimming.

"Woah." Dean muttered, wiping the thin layer of sweat that had collected on his upper lip. "I hate concussions."

"Maybe you should listen to the doctor and stay the night..."

"No way." Dean interrupted Sam resolutely, locking his knees to transfer part of his own weight back to them.

"Will you take it easy already?" Sam growled.

The younger Winchester had a point, judging by how Dean tilted against him again, the second he tried to move on his own steam. But that wasn't what caught Dean's attention, but the subtle tremble beneath the anger in Sam's voice. It made Dean react, and he grasped Sam's arm, prompting his little brother to tighten his hold automatically. Sam probably thought that Dean was about to fold over, but the older man really wanted to look at Sam in the eye.

"You alright, Sammy?" He questioned seriously.

The younger hunter held Dean's gaze wide-eyed, as if the latter had lost his mind.

"Am _I _alright?" Sam echoed Dean incredulously. "I'm not the one who was just under a car! And you ask _me _how I am?"

_Just, about to cry, for one._ Dean read easily in his sibling's expression.

"I thought you said I went _over _the car." He remarked lightly.

Sam huffed a laugh that sounded too wet for Dean's taste. "God, Dean…"

"What?" The older asked with a small smile.

Sam shook his head and breathed deep a few times, until he was collected enough to glare at Dean through dry eyes.

"Next time you talk about splitting up, I swear to God I'll chain you to a chair." The younger said, only half-joking.

"Kinky." Dean snorted, arching an eyebrow.

"Shut up."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Dean watched Sam as he typed on his laptop. His little brother had confined him to the motel bed, propped against all the pillows that Sam could find. For all the grumbling and fussing it had elicited from Dean, the older Winchester was fairly comfortable. His achy body rested against softness, from head to toe, and as long as he didn't move, nothing in his body screamed too loud. Sam had dosed him with painkillers, and Dean's headache had eased from "killer" to "terrible". He still hoped that the pain level would eventually lower to "bad". At that moment, bad sounded _so_ good.

Reasonably, Dean should have tried to sleep. Whether he liked it or not, dizziness was making him keep his eyes closed anyway, and drowsiness hovered over him like a thick blanket. However, he and Sam had work to do, and Dean needed to be awake.

"How are you doing?" Sam asked softly.

Dean opened his eyes, to find his brother observing him with a look of muted concern. Unfortunately, he promptly had to close his eyes, because even the dim light of the evening stabbed his optical nerves.

"You're blurry." Dean muttered.

He hated it when Sam was right, but the noisy, bright world outside the hospital had been almost too much for Dean's scrambled brain. He kept blacking out, and every time that Sam's voice caused him to resurface, it felt like the first time he had come to.

"Hang on." Sam said evenly.

Dean tracked Sam's movements from behind closed lids, following his brother mentally by the light sound of Sam's steps. The younger Winchester pulled the curtains closed, which left the room in a blessed, comfortable semidarkness. Dean dared to open his eyes again and immediately searched Sam, who flashed him a small smile.

"Thanks." Dean said, smiling back.

Sam shook his head dismissively, and went back to his laptop.

"But..." Dean began to protest. "Can you read with the curtains pulled?"

"The screen light is enough, Dean." Sam reassured him, "Try to get some rest."

"No, I-" Dean refused, frustrated at how crappy he felt. Besides, Sam was blurry again, and that unsettled Dean on a deep level. "Come here?"

Sam turned with a frown, worry and surprise battling for control in his face.

"You gonna be sick?"

"No!" Dean rolled eyes. "Just...come here and show me what you've got." He insisted, hoping that the professionalism of the petition masked the need behind his plea.

Sam looked doubtful for a second, but finally gave in, took the laptop and sat on the bed across from his brother.

_Much better_, Dean thought. At least now he could bring his brother into focus as Sam spoke.

"I looked Trisha and Megan up, and nothing stands out." Sam started briefing Dean. "They went to the same school, but that is hardly significant in a small town, so I can't really tell for how long they've known each other. Trisha is taking some classes at the community college, while she works part-time at the police station. Megan dropped out of the university, and works full time in a sales company." Sam chewed his lip, pensively. "I've traced their families and properties back a couple of generations, but I haven't found any records of strange activities. Bobby is also working on it, but right now I think I'm going with the fully-humans theory."

"Witches are human." Dean pointed out.

Sam paused, considering that. "Yeah, but witches need altars and rituals and...I don't know..._stuff. _We can't rule out the possibility yet, but you said that you didn't find anything strange in their house, right?"

"Believe me, Sammy, I found more than I could hope for." Dean grinned dreamily, remembering the two girls making out on the couch.

"Would you please get your head out of your pants for a second?"

Dean fought hard not to chuckle. His brother had a point coming, Dean could sense it. But Sam liked to expose his findings in an orderly way, and it was fun to yank his chain.

"Go on, go on." Dean said.

Sam remained silent, expressing his self-righteous indignation at having to put up with a big brother with the brain of a five year-old. Dean let him have his fit for a couple of seconds, and then waved a hand to coax Sam to continue.

_C'mon, now. I'm listening._

The younger man let out a long-suffering sigh. And then continued talking.

"So, all I could find was things they _don't _have in common. However, it's obvious that they know each other-"

"You could say so, yeah." Dean affirmed eagerly.

"Dean." Sam warned him.

"You're boring. Get to the point already!" The older argued.

The truth was that, while any other time Dean would have been more than pleased to let Sam beat around the bush, his headache wasn't as patient or forgiving. His little brother must have realized this too, because instead of aggravated, his expression became apologetic.

"Birthday." Sam blurted.

"What?"

"They share the same birthday."

Dean leaned his head back against the pillow and blinked in surprise.

"Oh." He muttered. "As in the _same_ same? The day, month _and _year?"

"Yep. Same, same and same"

"Oh." Dean repeated.

Sam nodded.

"And I don't know what it means. It could be nothing, maybe just a coincidence. It's not a big town..." The younger said, hesitantly.

"But?" Dean encouraged him.

"But then I thought maybe we were right. Maybe the key is finding the first victim, but we weren't looking back far enough."

"So?"

"So I've looking for violent or strange events that took place around May 11th 1990."

"And?" Dean prompted him one last time.

Sam raised an unsure gaze from the computer screen, and met his brother's eyes. "I expected some kind of suicide, but I've only found two deaths that day. One is a car accident, and the other one was a natural death." Sam shrugged, somewhat defeated.

Dean pursed his lips and nodded slowly. The blatant lack of answers acted as a downer for his meager reserves of strength, and a grimace slipped past Dean's defenses. Immediately, Sam's expression changed, eyes softening as the brother in him replaced the hunter.

"It's late." Sam declared, closing the laptop and putting it away. "You need to sleep."

Dean wearily shot daggers at Sam. His little brother's insistence on his well-being was becoming irritating.

"Dude, seriously," Dean began, annoyance coloring his voice. "I'm-"

"You are wiped out and that's being generous." Sam cut in. "We are calling it a night."

"Sam…" Dean scowled at him.

And there it was: Sam's kicked puppy look in full force. The worst part was that Sam wasn't even aware of it, or the power it had on Dean. But, _come on_. Was it that hard to get for Sam? That his concern made Dean feel loved; but it also made him feel weak, small and undeserving of that very love?

"What else?" Dean pushed, in an attempt to keep Sam's attention off of him.

"What else about what?" Sam frowned, thrown by the question.

"You talked about the deaths. What else happened? What other violent crimes were there?"

Sam stared at Dean for such a long time that the older began to doubt that Sam had heard him. Maybe, Sam was still too focused on Dean's concussion.

"Oh." Sam muttered, with a small frown.

Or maybe the geek had been too distracted watching over Dean to think of researching past the deaths.

"Getting rusty there, college boy?" Dean teased, quirking an eyebrow.

"Shut up." Sam shot back, embarrassed.

Dean's lips hinted a grin, and Sam allowed a slight smile to appear on his lips as well.

"Give me a sec." Sam reached for the laptop and rebooted it with a single, fluid movement. "Do you want water?"

It was Dean's turn to be taken aback by Sam's sudden, off-handed question, completely disconnected to the matter at hand.

"Water?" Dean asked dumbly.

Sam shot him a glance.

"Yeah, water. It's a liquid made of-" Sam started.

"Bite me." Dean picked up, just as plainly.

Sam chuckled. "Want water or not?" He offered again.

Dean gave the offer a thought. Although he still ached pretty much everywhere, his stomach had settled. He wouldn't dream of getting up to get himself a glass but he _was_ thirsty.

"Yeah." He accepted, mollified. "Water would be nice."

Sam got to his feet and brought Dean a glass in the brief time that it took for the computer to come back to life.

"Thanks." Dean said softly, tilting the glass toward Sam in acknowledgement.

Sam shook his head absently, and backed off only when he was sure that Dean had a firm grip on the glass.

"So, let's see." Sam mumbled to himself, as he sat on the bed and placed the computer on his lap again.

Dean watched Sam worked his magic, as he sipped his drink and secretly enjoyed the fact that Sam hadn't gone back to the "blurry zone" —aka table— to resume his research.

"Okay...on that day... a couple of robberies were reported in some local stores. A drunken fight in a bar, an assault, and a minor who got caught selling weed" The younger listed.

Dean mulled it over, softly tapping his fingers on the glass. "I assume that the local stores weren't hoodoo shops."

"Supermarket and gas station." Sam provided.

_Go figure._

"What about the assault?" Dean asked.

Sam's lips twitched, as he clicked to find out the answer. "23 years-old woman, attacked when she was coming back from work. Apparently she worked the night shift at the local hospital as a nurse." Sam read. "Her name was Angela Charisteas."

"Like the soccer player?" Dean chimed in.

Sam arched an eyebrow at that, but it was too late for Dean to bit his tongue.

"Soccer? Really?" Sam asked, as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

Dean put on his best offended expression.

"What's wrong with soccer? _You_ played soccer!" He defended himself.

"I know I played soccer. I'm asking since when _you_ have liked it" Sam countered, goofy smile plastered on his face.

"I went to see all your stupid games, didn't I?" The older grumbled uncomfortably.

Oh _great_. Now Sam was looking at him as if Dean was the sun over the Earth. Flattering, but awkward.

"Besides, it was the European championship." Dean justified. "That Charisteas guy won the Cup for Greece."

Sam's half-smile froze on his face. It made Dean pause, as he wondered if he had said something wrong. The older brother was about to ask what was going on when he recognized Sam's expression. Something was clicking into place, as if a series of switches were being flipped too fast for Sam to put his thoughts into words.

"Oh, God," Sam said in a small voice as he looked up at his sibling.

Dean felt his stomach clench at Sam's ominous tone.

"What?" He asked, well aware that he wasn't going to like the answer.

Sam shook his head and closed his eyes.

"We're so screwed."

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

_TBC_


	6. Chapter 6

**Here we go again. Thank you all for the warm welcome the last chapter received, I'm glad you liked it. Hopefully, this chapter will have some answers for you, and also more drama in the end. Please let me know what you think!**

**Oh, to anspa83, thanks hon! I got my intel wrong, but I already corrected it! ;)**

**As always, thanks Megan ;). See? The name had a reason!**

**Enjoy xx**

* * *

**Unleashed Furies**

**VI**

"Furies." Bobby's tone held a shade of incredulity. "Are you sure?"

Sam _wished_ he could answer no, but unfortunately, he was positive. The punishing nature of the deaths, the randomness of the victims' crimes, it all fit. Furies were ancient, primal spirits of justice that saw no shades of grey. They were entities that didn't kill, but tortured their chosen ones relentlessly until the only way for their victims to stop the pain was by killing themselves.

Sam felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine. As much as he enjoyed the thrill of solving a mystery, being right this time meant they were in serious trouble.

"It all adds up, Bobby." Sam answered, his voice devoid of satisfaction.

Bobby gazed into Sam's eyes somberly. John's friend had arrived at the sibling's motel room barely ten minutes ago, and the seasoned hunter was still processing the news.

"Son of a bitch." Bobby muttered.

Sam snorted a laugh as he massaged his temples, pressing his fingers over the pulse points. He could feel the beginnings of a headache coming, and Sam's eyes sought Dean instinctively: His brother was making coffee in the kitchenette and had his back to Sam and Bobby. Although Sam had tried to stop Dean and keep him in bed for a little while longer, Dean had refused. A concussion wouldn't bother his pig-headed brother if they had work to do.

Still, Dean looked tired and slightly unsteady on his feet. Sam hoped that at least the painkillers had kicked in and his brother's headache was more manageable. Of course, Sam also knew that the equivalent of _manageable _for Dean would have more than half of the population writhing in agony. But the younger Winchester would take what he could get, especially considering that a few hours ago Dean had been much worse for the wear.

When Dean finished making coffee, he shot an interrogative look at Bobby as he tapped his finger on the jar. Bobby gave a grateful smile, but refused the offering with a shake of his head. With a sigh, the older Winchester left the counter.

"Okay, let me get this straight." Dean enunciated carefully. "We are talking about furies._ The_ Furies, as in Greek myth's goddesses."

He approached Sam as he spoke with two steaming mugs of coffee, and pushed one into his brother's hand without asking.

"More like deities." Sam corrected Dean.

In that moment, Sam would have given an arm and a leg for the artificial relief of pacing. But Dean had gripped the back of Sam's chair for balance, and that meant that Sam wasn't moving anytime soon.

"Furies is their Latin name, they were called Erines in Greek." Bobby supplied. "'The angry ones.'"

"The _angry_ ones?" Dean asked with a huff. "That's just great."

"Also known as the Daughters of Night." Sam added. "They're spirits of vengeance, and haunt those who have committed a crime. Aeschylus described how they chased Orestes for years, after Orestes killed his mother Electra…"

"Right, okay, professor," Dean cut in, petulantly, "Hold on a minute. Aren't there supposed to be three of them?"

Bobby left his safe spot by the door, and walked toward the desk, arms crossed.

"Versions vary. But yeah, Virgil at least recognized three of them." The older hunter affirmed.

Dean chewed on his bottom lip so hard he almost drew blood, while Sam cringed internally and buried his face on his hands, feeling slightly sick.

"A man…" Dean said roughly. "When I was at Trisha's house, they were talking about a third one. They said that they were being impulsive and that was something _he_ wasn't going to like."

_God, I'm such an idiot!_ Sam thought, reaching the same conclusion Dean had, although through a different channel.

"Alec." The younger whispered, without raising his eyes from the tunnel he had created with his hands against his forehead.

Even without looking up, he felt the others' attention shift immediately to him.

"You mean Alec, the son of the abuser?" Bobby asked cautiously.

"I knew that I had heard Megan and Trisha's birthday before!" Sam exclaimed, standing up abruptly. "Alec has the same birthday too, I looked him up when we got here, remember? When I thought he could be like Max..."

Sam turned to Dean, trailing off as he guiltily realized that his older brother had been forced to reach out and lean a hand on the desk for support, because of Sam's brusque movement. However, Dean's eyes were clear when he met Sam's, his gaze full of understanding. Apparently, he wasn't inclined to blame Sam for not having realized the coincidence sooner.

"You think that he may have seen you going out of Trisha's house?" Bobby chimed in. "That he may have been the one who hit you?"

Dean's jaw twitched, as he answered simply: "If that's the case, I honestly don't know why he didn't finish me off."

Dean's words felt like a punch to Sam, who had to send a conscious command to his lungs to work again. His throat felt tight with tears, his belly burned in rage: the two emotions seemed to contradict each other, but were equally poignant.

"There were witnesses, remember?" Sam said hoarsely. "Maybe the bastard didn't want to expose himself and he fled."

Sam sensed Dean's flinch at the harshness of his words, but he couldn't help himself. Lacing his hands behind his head, Sam paced nervously, as he fought the urge to punch something.

"Sam." Dean called him softly.

Sam shook his head, shutting his brother out. He needed a minute to collect his thoughts past the loop of homicidal rage towards Alec his mind had fallen into. And the fact that the kid had been close to killing Dean wasn't the only thing he was having problems wrapping his head around. It was also hard to forget that Dean had been in the same house as the other two Furies that day, _alone_. What if they had gotten him? Sam had seen what the Furies did to people with far less baggage than Dean.

Sam's brother was barely holding it together after Lillian. This job was supposed to help him heal a little, and now _this_? If two people had slashed each other to death over having an affair, what would the avenging Greek spirits have done to Dean if they had laid their hands on his guilt-ridden psyche?

"Okay, boys, we need to focus." Bobby said, after clearing his throat. His voice was all business and it reached Sam through his morose thoughts. "We've got three furies running wild. They're not spirits nor demons, they might not react to the usual rituals or exorcisms. How do we un-possess them?"

Sam leaned a hand against the wall and forced himself to keep his head in the game. He realized that Dean was looking at him, concern subtle but clear in the elder's hazel eyes, and Sam schooled his expression and buried his emotions away from his brother's sight.

"I don't think they're possessed." Sam said bleakly. "I think they're reincarnated."

Bobby frowned as his eyes zeroed in on Sam. Dean's gaze sharpened.

"Think about it." The younger elaborated. "Angela Charisteas was attacked 20 years ago. As a result, she somehow cast the Furies over the town. On the same day three babies were born, and years later they start pushing the locals to commit suicide on account of their 'crimes'."

Dean nodded and easily picked up his brother's train of reasoning.

"If it was a regular possession, the Furies could have picked anyone's body to occupy 20 years ago. But they had to be born, and they've had to _mature_ in order to start killing."

"But why now?" Bobby asked, still at a loss.

"They just turned 20." Sam said wearily. "20 was the legal age to join the ranks in Greece." The younger shrugged. "Or maybe it was simply was their time. Bobby, you said so yourself, all tests prove that they're fully human. That's why they've been so hard to find."

Bobby picked at his chin, reluctant to face the inevitable.

"Well, damn." He finally muttered.

"Yeah." Sam echoed.

"And what do we do now?" Bobby wondered, almost to himself.

Sam shrugged again, lips pursed. If the legend was right, Orestes got rid of the furies that tormented him when the goddess Athena declared him innocent of the crime he had committed. However, as far as Sam knew, Athena wasn't returning many calls lately. Mentally running through the different victims' crimes, Sam couldn't find a pattern either, so who knew who the Angry Ones could be targeting right now.

And then Dean moved. With a frown of concentration, his jaw set, determined, despite the paper-pale hue of his face. Sam's insides grew cold automatically.

"What are you doing?" He asked instantly.

As if Sam didn't know his brother well enough. As if Sam _had to_ _ask_.

"We have to stop them." Dean stated plainly. "People could be dying right now while we-"

_No. No, no, no, no…_

"We can't go against them just like that, Dean." Sam interjected quickly.

"Sam, I'm not gonna sit on my ass while those monsters are making people cut their wrists over a pair of earrings." Dean warned.

"I didn't say that." Sam argued.

"Like Hell, you didn't" Dean grumbled.

Sam bit his tongue, aware that Dean was reading his mind. Yes, Sam wanted Dean to sit this one out, but it was because the younger couldn't deal with the idea of his big brother at the mercy of the Furies. Saying such a thing though would only lead to a fight none of them needed. Even less in front of Bobby.

"Dean..." Sam tried in his most reasonable tone.

"Sam…" Dean countered, unruffled.

"Shut up, both of you." Bobby growled.

Bobby's intervention seemed to catch Dean off-guard, as if the older Winchester had forgotten Bobby was even there.

"Sam's right, Dean." Bobby declared. "We don't know how to stop them yet. _If_ there is a way to stop them."

Sam swallowed hard, so grateful to Bobby he could have hugged him. Meanwhile, Dean radiated tension by Sam's side. Sam's brother didn't know how to be patient when innocent lives were at stake, and while the younger understood it, right now Sam was more worried about Dean.

"Okay, I hear you. We need to do more research." Dean relented, forcing a calmer tone of voice. "But we can't let them go about town haunting more people. It could be happening _right now_. There has to be some way to...contain them. At least while he figure out what to do."

Bobby sighed, took his cap off and ran his fingers through his hair.

"Yeah, you're right." He admitted gruffly. "Damn boys. _Furies_?"

Sam and Dean snorted a nervous laugh in unison, sharing a look wavering between tragic and amused. Their eye contact warmed Sam a little though, but not enough to let his guard down. The younger hunter knew how Dean's brain worked, and the latter needed to let his self-sacrifice urge go.

"I think I can work something out." Bobby announced. "At my place, I think we will be able to contain them."

"And exactly how will we?" Dean asked curiously.

"It's a project I've been working on for a while." Bobby shook his head thoughtfully. "I haven't tested it yet, but it should be enough for those three self-righteous brats. We still have to find a way to get them there though."

"Yeah, I know." Dean nodded. He looked at his little brother and spoke again. "Sam-"

"Don't even think about it." Sam interrupted Dean immediately.

Dean stared at him, arching an eyebrow.

"Whatever task you're gonna pick for me, forget it. You are _not _going alone." Sam insisted flatly.

"Sammy…"

"Don't _Sammy_ me." Sam hissed, lowering his voice. "If you really think I'm going to let you do such a thing, then you've knocked your head harder than I thought you had."

Dean's glare hardened, but Sam didn't back down. His big brother may not get it, but Dean wasn't ready. And Sam didn't mind fighting over it as many times as he had to. After all, he was the stubborn mule of the family, wasn't that what Dean was always saying?

Fighting was easier than waiting for Dean to wake up in a hospital bed, or seeing him struggle for breath after a heart-clenching nightmare.

"_Sam_." Dean enunciated clearly, stressing his brother's adult name. "We need to find out as much as we can about the Furies, and you know it'll go faster if we split up."

"You're _not_ going against three Furies on your own!" Sam exclaimed.

"I can go with him." Bobby said evenly, cutting through the tension between the siblings.

Dean's eyes flickered to Bobby minutely, and he seemed to consider the option. Sam felt his insides going cold so fast he barely heard himself yelling.

"NO!"

Two pairs of eyes landed on him; the greenest ones bewildered; those of the elder remained opaque. Sam avoided both stares, as he breathed deep and willed his heartbeat to slow down. The idea of Dean going off with Bobby, while Sam waited chewing his nails over a computer screen, was unthinkable. He had spent too much time waiting and worrying in the last months, and he couldn't do it again. Dean was _his_ brother; his safety was on _Sam_.

"We're not splitting up, I told you." Sam said gravely, raising his eyes to his brother. Their intensity seemed to get under Dean's skin, and the older hesitated.

"Sammy." Dean whispered. "You… you quit, man. You don't have to do this anymore."

Sam's skin crawled at the echo of what Dean wasn't saying: that he didn't want Sam to go with him. Dean was okay with going hunting with Bobby, as long as his little brother stayed out of harm's way. Dean had never done anything else but protect his little brother and what scared Sam was that it would cost Dean his life someday.

But _not_ today.

"We go together." Sam pressed. "You…you _and_ me, Dean. Please."

Dean breathed in his brother's plea, at a loss for words for a long time. Finally John's first-born glanced at Bobby, and then back at Sam.

"Okay." He said softly.

"Yeah?" Sam's relief was so intense that as he released his breath it poured into his tone of voice, almost making his knees buckle.

"Yeah, geez, you only had to ask." Dean said rolling eyes. "I swear I'd think you were a girl if I hadn't taught you how to-"

"Dean, that's certainly something I don't need to know." Bobby growled.

The older Winchester let out a light chuckle, and Sam's cheeks reddened as he glued his eyes to the floor.

"We have two hours, people." Dean continued, in a more serious manner. "Whatever we can dig up until then will help, but we are getting the Furies tonight. Can you be ready by then?"

Both Sam and Bobby nodded. That meant that Sam had 120 minutes to figure out a way to get them out of that mess in one piece. And he didn't like this, not at all. It felt as if they were jumping off a cliff and only the fast approaching rocks at the bottom were ahead of them.

And the cherry on the cake, a timid glance at the older hunter showed Sam that Bobby was now avoiding his gaze altogether.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

The three hunters spent the next two hours at Bobby's, getting ready separately in their respective fields. Dean was somewhere in the living room, checking and rechecking their weapons, a nervous habit that had always helped him to focus before a hunt. Sam didn't know what Bobby was doing, but he had seen the older hunter head down to the basement. And Sam had sequestered himself in Bobby's library, trying to find solutions fighting against the clock.

So far, he had nothing.

Sam felt the weight of Bobby's gaze on the nape of his neck. He somehow knew when it was Dean watching. Turning on his chair, Sam raised his eyes to the vicinity of Bobby's face.

"Hey." The younger greeted him softly.

Bobby's lips curved up, giving Sam a fleeting smile.

"You boys should get going. Your brother's getting anxious." The older hunter said, with a tilt of his head indicating the living room.

Sam let out a gentle sigh and nodded.

"Did you finish setting things up downstairs?" He asked Bobby.

"Almost." Bobby answered. "What about you? Have you found anything?"

Sam glanced at the dusty pages he had been leafing through, full of words but devoid of answers.

"I don't know how to stop them." Sam said, shaking his head. "But I think I know how they attack their victims."

Bobby arched his eyebrows and stepped closer to Sam, crossing his arms as he waited for the youngest Winchester to continue.

"At the hospital, Phoebe said that Trisha had seen her stealing the earrings." Sam elaborated. "'She looked at me with those green eyes', she said. Furies are supposed to look into your soul and see your deepest secrets. I think that's what Trisha did. They…infect you through direct eye contact. Sort of like…"

"Medusa?" Bobby ventured.

Sam nodded.

"It makes sense." Bobby mused. "They're obviously not affecting everyone they simply cross paths with, or we would have more victims. But Sam, you spoke to Trisha at the station. _I_ spoke to Alec before you got here. If you're right, then… "

"I think they can control it." Sam answered Bobby's unspoken question. "They chose who they want to look into."

Bobby pursed his lips and scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"You're probably right, kid. Well done." He said.

Sam looked up at the unexpected praise. "Thanks." He muttered. Lowering his gaze again, Sam closed the laptop, and stood up.

He was about to leave and join Dean, but Bobby stopped him in the doorway with a soft grip on Sam's arm.

"Sam." Bobby said gravely. "Maybe it _would_ be safer if you stayed."

The younger turned around and stared at Bobby in bewilderment.

"They will be expecting us, Bobby. And if Alec was the driver of the car that hit Dean, they'll know what Dean looks like." Sam protested.

"I'm not worried about _him_." Bobby stated.

Sam was so taken aback by Bobby's words, that it took a while for him to understand that the older hunter was referring to him. It was then that Sam realized what must have been on Bobby's mind when the older man had volunteered to take Sam's place in the hunt. It wasn't Dean attracting the Furies that Bobby was worried about, but Sam. Bobby saw Sam's crime shining like a beacon. It was always between the two of them and that fact was never going to change. And while Sam couldn't deny that Bobby was right, he wouldn't deny how much it stung either.

"I can't _not_ go." Sam forced out, steady enough, despite the bitter turmoil of emotions swirling in his gut. "I'm sure you can understand that."

Bad things happened when they split up —it was a _fact_. It didn't have anything to do with any kind of humiliating episode of post-traumatic separation anxiety at the age of 26, on Sam's part. Nor was it Sam's fault that Dean insisted on being close to death so often in the last months.

"Sure I do. You just don't trust me." Bobby said bluntly.

Sam's jaw clenched on its own accord.

"You don't trust me with him." Bobby added, looking Sam in the eye.

Sam remained silent, because he couldn't think of a way to formulate his answer. He and Dean had worked with Bobby many times before, and Sam had never questioned his brother's safety when Dean went off with the seasoned hunter. Just as he had never doubted that their father had Dean's back, when it was only the two of them. Just a year ago, Sam's feelings might have been different, but now… after having been so close to losing Dean, he didn't think he could entrust his brother to _anyone_.

And Bobby... he…he had…

"Avoid their eyes, don't let them see you." The older hunter said roughly. Then added, "you keep your brother safe."

Bobby had _failed_ Sam before, when Sam had needed him the most. And as much as it hurt, Sam realized that they weren't past it yet.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Sam drove through town, following his brother's directions. They had gone to Trisha's house, but it was empty. A call to Bobby had provided Megan's address, but there was no one there either. The siblings presumed that if the Furies suspected that they were being chased, they were likely to hide out in the only place they still thought was safe: Alec's house.

"Turn left." Dean instructed, his collected.

Sam nodded imperceptibly. They were heading to the suburbs, and the younger hunter wasn't sure whether having less people around would be good or bad.

"Stop worrying, okay?" Dean said. "I can hear you thinking from here."

Sam couldn't help a little snort, and shook his head. At least his brother didn't look too bad now. Adrenaline had boosted Dean up, and he sat upright, focused and ready. Sam decided against checking on his brother's headache, because Dean wouldn't answer honestly to his concern before a hunt anyway; unless it was bad enough to put Sam at risk.

Keeping _Dean _safe was Sam's responsibility this time. But would he be able to do it?

"How do you want to do this?" Sam asked.

Dean gave him a sideways glance. "We go in, we get them, we go out." He said with a shrug.

Sam tightened his fists on the wheel and breathed deeply through his nose.

"You really think that it's going to be that easy, don't you?" Sam asked, frustrated by Dean's flippant tone. "This could get ugly and you know it."

"Come on, Sam, what's crawled up your ass? You haven't stopped complaining all the way here."

"Well, excuse me, but you were at the hospital less than five hours ago." Sam growled.

"And yet, I'm not the one bitching here." Dean shot back.

Sam held his tongue, because he _knew_ he was bitching. But he couldn't help it, it was either voicing how bad this idea was or letting its crushing weight roll over his chest and suffocate him.

"Seriously, man. What's wrong?" Dean asked then, softer this time. "I know we have walked into hunts better prepared, but we can do this. It's going to be okay, I promise."

Sam swallowed thickly, as his stomach made all kind of flip-flops. He didn't understand what was happening to him. Indeed, they had gone into hunts unprepared before; unfortunately sometimes you had to. Dean had also been hurt before, too many times to count. This time though, it was something else. This time Sam was scared and he couldn't tell Dean, because his brother was already looking for a reason to keep Sam out from harm's way.

"They will be waiting for us." Sam offered darkly.

Dean pursed his lips and fiddled with the map on his lap, as he considered Sam's words.

"So let them wait all they want. As long as we don't look at them in the eye, we should be able to take three people."

The implicit trust that Dean showed in Sam's weak theory about eye-contact was humbling for the younger hunter. Sam sighed and nodded

"Yeah, maybe." He caved, not wanting to contradict Dean.

"Is that what's worrying you?" Dean asked, cocking his head. "That they're _people_?"

Sam frowned, but kept his eyes on the road.

"You want to save them, don't you?" Dean added.

The younger shrugged, uncomfortably. He felt Dean's gaze on him, boring holes onto the side of his head, and wished he could be swallowed by the Impala's leather.

"I guess… I don't know…. maybe?" Sam glanced at Dean, "It's not their fault they were born that way."

"No, it's not." Dean said meaningfully. "But they sure seem to be enjoying it. I mean, I get it. Alec's father? If my dad had abused me for years, and all of sudden I got this power to punish him for it, I can't say that I wouldn't have flipped out too."

_No, you wouldn't_, Sam thought, _You would have run away or held on until there was nothing left in you. But you would never kill him. Not your Dad. Ever._

"Anyway," Dean continued. "Nobody is killing anyone. We are only going to make sure they don't hurt anyone else, until we figure out how to get out of this mess." He looked over at Sam. "Okay?"

Sam willed his stomach to settle and his heart to stop galloping. It wasn't the first time he realized that Dean was _by far_ a better person than he was, in every sense that mattered. Because Sam _had_ killed people before: more than once. And the hypocrisy of his qualms now was just as gut-clenching as the idea of getting blood on his hands again.

Dean's attempts to reassure him made Sam proud and sad at the same time. Someone like his brother shouldn't be putting his life at risk every single day. It was unfair. After everything Dean had gone through, the least he deserved was some peace.

_Keep him safe._

"Here we are." Dean announced.

He pointed at a house up the road. The younger Winchester parked at a safe distance and observed the area. There were a couple of cars and a van parked nearby, but other than that the street was empty.

"Damn," Dean grumbled under his breath. His eyes were on one of the vehicles parked in front of the house. A red Ford, whose windshield was shattered to pieces, "I think that's the car that hit me."

Sam took a deep breath that tasted of ice and vengeance. Unexpectedly, it calmed him down, and Sam realized that he had made up his mind. He knew what he needed to do, and he could only hope that Dean would eventually understand it too.

"C'mon." The older said, clapping his shoulders. "I've got your back, little brother."

Sam swallowed around the lump inside his throat, but exited the car obediently along with Dean and went around the car to join his big brother.

"Dean?" Sam forced out, voice even despite everything. "What side did you hit your head on?"

"What?" Dean tore his eyes from the gun he was re-checking and stared at Sam in confusion. "Right, why?"

"Don't be mad." Sam said with a wince.

And before Dean could realize what was happening, Sam had clocked him on the left side of his head. The older fell limply into Sam's arms without so much of a grunt, and Sam eased him gently into the car.

_And I've got yours._

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

Of course, Dean was mad. As soon as he came to, and could make sense of his surroundings past the crazy pound of his head and the nauseating ringing in his ears, he was more than mad. He was enraged _and _betrayed. If he had taken the time to analyze his emotions in depth, he would have said that he was also scared out of his mind, but Dean wasn't a man who analyzed emotions, neither deeply nor superficially.

He stumbled into the house as soon as his feet allowed him to, and apprehension surged through him upon finding the door slightly ajar. He bit his tongue hard, knowing that calling Sam could be dangerous if his little brother was trying to be stealthy. Dean wasn't sure of how long he had been out. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes, but he hadn't thought of checking the time before his asshole of a brother decked him.

The older Winchester entered the house quietly, his steps fluid and controlled. The hall was quiet and nothing seemed out of place, but his pulse speeded up at the thought of Sam stupidly walking that same hall on his own.

_I'm gonna kill him. I swear to God I'm gonna kill him..._

His heart stopped in his chest when he reached the living room.

The disarray spoke of a fight. There were chairs knocked over, the coffee table was broken and the crashed remains of vase were scattered around the wooden floor. Dean almost tripped on a body, prone on the floor in front of the couch. It was Megan. Trisha was down too, near the kitchen, with a knife clutched in her hand. Dean kneeled next to each of them, and felt their pulses warily. The soft flutter under his fingertips that confirmed that the girls were only unconscious was hard to register over the crazy roar of his own adrenaline-fuelled blood.

Carefully, he took the knife from Trisha's limp hand and exhaled a relieved breath when he found it clean. When he raised his eyes, he spotted a third body, next to a smashed cabinet. A tall and athletic young man, with shaggy hair. Dean could feel his heart stuttering to a halt, but quickly realized that the boy was blond.

Alec.

_Not Sam. Not Sam._

With the three Furies safely down, Dean didn't miss a beat and using all the air in his lungs he bellowed.

"SAM!"

"Dean." A weak voice responded.

Dean whirled around so fast he almost got whiplash. Sam had appeared in the living room doorway and met his big brother's gaze with a grim expression. In the blink of an eye, Dean lunged at him and pinned Sam against the wall, using all the weight of his bulky frame to immobilize the younger man.

"You son of a bitch. How _dare_ you?" Dean spat, grabbing Sam by the lapels of his shirt. His voice shook, low and dangerous and full of anger. "You knocked me out? You little shit, you decide to fly solo and you _knock me out_?"

"I'm sorry." Sam offered feebly, without raising his eyes.

Sam sounded sincere. He probably _was _sorry about hitting Dean. But Dean didn't need to read Sam's eyes to know that his little brother didn't regret the rest, which infuriated Dean more.

"You're sorry?" Dean hissed. "The fuck, Sam? Do you have _any_ idea of how stupid that was? What would have happened if you-" Dean broke off when he felt his voice tremble due to something other than righteous fury.

Sam didn't move; he had barely raised his arms, as if he refused to defend himself against Dean outburst. But that meant little to Dean, simply that Sam knew better, therefore his little brother's contrite demeanor didn't appease him. As a matter of fact, the oldest Winchester felt even worse, as he all the _what ifs_ that had subconsciously fuelled his violent reaction now overwhelmed his conscious mind.

_Dammit. Dammit, Sam._

With a final shove, he released his brother and stepped back. If he kept jumping down Sam's throat while his emotions were so raw, something told Dean that he would seriously harm his sibling. Dean forced himself to cool down and focus on the situation at hand. Giving Sam a quick once-over, he noticed that Sam was loosely holding a strip of fabric.

"I thought I'd tie them up." The younger explained, following Dean's gaze. "Dean, I-"

Dean didn't let him finish, just snatched what looked like a torn piece of sheet from his brother's hand, and turned his back on Sam. Dean's head swam a little when he crouched next to Megan, but he balanced himself by planting a knee on the floor as he tied her hands behind her back with tight, expert knots. A pang of regret fluttered in his gut when he reached out and tied more stripes of fabric around the girl's eyes and mouth, effectively blinding and gagging her. If they were right, these were human they were dealing with, and that kind of treatment made him feel like a torturer rather than a hunter.

Better safe than sorry though. He did the same to Trisha, and switched his attention to Alec. Dean walked over the shattered pieces of glass of the smashed cabinet to get to the blond boy, and his mind registered the condition of the room in a less urgent, more rational level.

"What happened?" Dean asked, his voice still laced with harshness.

He looked over his shoulder at Sam. The younger man hadn't moved from the door, and met Dean's eyes for the briefest of seconds before returning his gaze to the floor.

"I got the girls first but Trisha warned Alec." Sam shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "He resisted."

"You hurt?" Again, it sounded more like a bark than a question, but annoyance didn't make Dean's concern any less heartfelt, only harder to read.

"I'm fine, Dean." Sam replied tiredly.

Dean didn't buy it. Sam sounded off, his voice fading. Taking a closer look, Dean noticed the pasty quality of his brother's skin and how Sam was subtly using the wall as support, leaning his back against the painted surface. It was Sam's eyes that gave him away when Dean finally managed to look into them getting past both his own anger and Sam's defenses.

"Sam, I swear..." Dean huffed under his breath.

He covered the few feet that separated them in two quick strides, ignoring Sam's wary scowl and his reflexive step back.

"Cool it, Dean." The younger protested.

There it was, trademarked Winchester defiance refined to its purest expression by Sammy. His little brother accepted that Dean had a reason to be mad at him, but compliance and contrition could only stifle Sam's sense of pride to a point.

"Shut up." Dean shot back automatically.

The fact that Sam didn't just push him away as soon as Dean was within arm's reach was concerning in itself. The older hunter felt no regret as he grabbed Sam's shoulders roughly and pulled his brother to him. Sam landed against Dean's chest with a surprised grunt, his hands curling around Dean's biceps for balance, as Dean ran his fingers along Sam's head.

"I said I'm fine." Sam repeated, in an affronted tone of voice.

"The Hell you are." Dean grouched.

He felt Sam flinch when he found a tender spot behind his left ear.

"Dean..." Sam complained.

Dean shook his head, his eyes starting to burn. As much as he had tried to shake it off, holding Sam close was eating at his wall of indignation, and Dean felt the echo of the long minutes of terrified concern leaking through the cracks.

"You idiot. You stupid, reckless idiot." He muttered, almost to himself.

Dean ghosted a hand over the bump on Sam's head, as his other hand found the back of his little brother's neck and squeezed gently.

"Don't you do that again, Sammy. _Never again_." Dean whispered.

He would have liked to say it was an order. But while checking over Sam's injuries his embrace had turned into a possessive half-hug without Dean even realizing it and it didn't make any sense to try and deny that his words had come out as a plea. An empty plea, as Dean knew that Sam would always put him first, just as Dean put his little brother's safety before his own. It was nice to pretend anyway, if only for a second, that Dean could always keep Sam within sight, so that nothing bad could ever happen to him. The relief of that simple thought washed over the older Winchester's anxiety as he held Sam tighter.

"I'm sorry." Sam repeated, subdued in his brother's embrace.

Dean forced himself to pull away and drew in a steadying breath. Shifting his hands, Dean placed both palms on the sides of Sam's neck and forced him to meet his gaze. Sam wavered as he let his own hands fall from Dean's arms. The older frowned, noticing that his brother's pupils were so dilated his eyes were almost black. The hit Sam had taken to the head didn't look too serious, but you could never be too careful.

"Sit down." He prompted, giving Sam a push towards the couch.

Dean shot a wary look at the three unconscious bodies in the room, flipped his cell open and speed-dialed Bobby. The phone rang and rang, until the call was redirected to the voicemail.

"_This is Bobby, leave a-_" The recorded voice started on the other end.

"Shit." Dean grumbled, ending the call and re-dialing almost in a single finger movement.

He paced the living room while the phone tried to establish the connection, rubbing his forehead nervously. The punch he had received from Sam didn't hurt anymore, it had been precise and measured. But the painkillers he had taken in their motel room were starting to lose effect. The recent adrenaline rush probably hadn't helped either. Only now his heartbeat was starting to return fromhis _Sam's in danger_ crazy sprint to his normal hunt-alert levels, and the aftereffects left Dean achy, worn out and overstressed.

The call went unanswered once more, and Dean's nerves screamed at him to hurl the damn cell against the window.

_Okay._ He told himself, struggling to keep his calm. _Okay_.

He turned to Sam, who was bent forwards bracing himself with his arms on his knees. A thin layer of sweat was starting to coat his forehead and upper lip and his eyes were glassy. But despite everything, Sam's gaze was firmly set on Dean.

"Bobby's not answering?" He asked, his voice solicitous.

"I got it." Dean reassured automatically. "How are you doing?"

Sam chewed on his lip. Obviously, he wanted to answer that he was fine, but the moment of hesitation told a very different story. If that hadn't been enough, the greenish hue Sam's face was taking would be quite solid evidence of his condition.

"I'm… I uh-" Sam managed to say, before clenching his teeth with an audible click and swallowing several times. "I'm gonna be sick."

Sam stumbled into the hallway without another word, leaving Dean frozen and stunned at his own slow reactions. His little brother was hurt, they had three furies as prisoners and their back-up wasn't answering the phone. Dean clenched his fists and willed himself to think, although the sound of Sam retching somewhere down the corridor was distracting. Dean resumed his nervous pacing, got to the window and pulled the curtain aside a couple of inches to observe the street as he pondered their options. He needed to get Sam somewhere safe, but he couldn't leave the three Furies there. They couldn't take them in the Impala either without risking someone seeing them either. Muttering a curse, he called Bobby again, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the universe wouldn't continue to screw with them.

Of course, no such luck.

"Bobby, this is Dean. Where the hell are you? Call me as soon as you get this, okay?"

Dean closed the phone, and let out a tense breath. He was about to tear himself from the window when something caught his attention, and a precarious plan B blossomed in his mind. He had forgotten the van parked in front of the house. With a pained grimace, Dean glanced at his car. God, this sucked.

"I'm sorry, baby." He whispered. "I'll be back for you."

Now that Dean knew what he had to do, it was easier to get moving. He made sure that the three Furies were still out cold, and went looking for Sam. The silence seemed to indicate that his brother was done throwing up. Dean found him in the bathroom, sitting dejectedly on the closed lid of the toilet. Sam looked pale and shaky, and his hair was moist with sweat.

"Hey." Dean called him softly, as he stepped closer to Sam, ducking his head a little to try to catch his brother's eyes.

Sam's Adam's apple bobbled up and down, as he shook his head trying to clear his mind.

"Better?" His big brother asked hopefully.

"Not sure" Sam admitted, pressing a hand against his temple.

Sam's response didn't help Dean's concern. As much as the younger bitched about Dean's stoicism, it was a Winchester trait that both siblings shared and Sam hardly ever complained when he was hurt.

"Can you walk?" Dean questioned, crouching to be at eye level with Sam. "We need to get out of here."

Sam blinked unfocused eyes at Dean before gazing at their surroundings. He frowned, his expression disoriented, but after a second he squared his shoulders valiantly and nodded.

"Yeah." Sam moved the hand that was against his temple, got a grip of the towel ring and propped himself up. "You get a hold of Bobby?"

"No." Dean said tersely, hovering close to Sam as his little brother got to his feet drunkenly but unassisted. "But I have a plan."

Dean focused on watching Sam's wobbly steps as they walked back against the living room.

"You can sit down for a while." Dean offered when Sam had to lean on the back of the couch for balance. "Sam, if you think you're gonna pass out…"

Dean trailed off, unwilling to push Sam. The truth was that he needed his little brother to hang on a little longer, because not even Dean could deal with so many vulnerabilities at the same time. But he couldn't ask Sam to suck it up, because Dean wasn't like John, and Sam wasn't like Dean. Besides, Sam was messed up because he had tried to protect Dean's sorry ass in the first place. Pushing Sam would be like admitting that he couldn't do this alone. And that was ironic, since every time Sam winced or stumbled Dean was reminded that his little brother shouldn't be in the hunt, with _him_, to begin with.

"I'm good." Sam replied softly. "What's the plan?"

"I got it." Dean insisted.

"I'm sure you do, but I can help."

Dean exhaled quietly and met Sam's earnest eyes. _We're a team_, Sam seemed to say. His trust settled Dean's fluttering gut, and the younger's unsaid promise to hold on soothed the sense of urgency that had been making Dean's nerves bounce all over the place. Then Sam flashed him a smile, and that did it. Dean always marveled at how whenever the weight of the world on his shoulders threatened to crush him, Sam found a way to share the burden.

"There." Dean nodded to the window, lips tugging up in the corners as he stepped aside to let Sam see. "The van at 8 o'clock."

Sam's gaze followed Dean's indication, then looked at his brother, eyebrows arched. The unspoken question about what they were going to do with the Impala floated in the air. But Sam seemed to take pity of his brother's separation anxiety towards his car and made no further comments. Instead, his eyes flickered to the van again. A slight nod conveyed Sam's understanding, but as soon as the younger Winchester started to move, Dean's hand closed around his brother's arm.

"I'm good, man." Sam repeated, batting Dean's hand away.

"Sammy…" Dean started, his voice unsure.

"I'm just a little dizzy, alright?" Sam countered. "But I can jump-start a car."

Dean stared at him a second longer, but didn't try to stop Sam the next time he started for the door. The younger sibling strode focused and obstinately toward his destination, no matter how much his sight may be blurring on his way to it. It made Dean proud, and guilty, and torn inside.

It also spurred him into action.

Dean made a quick job of erasing their traces, just in case someone missed Alec and the police got involved. Then he proceeded to carry the three unconscious Furies to the white van. Sam had the engine running by the time Dean finished locking Megan, Trisha and Alec in the back of the vehicle. After tossing a look around to make sure no one had seen them, the older Winchester hurried to the driver's side and yanked the door open.

"Whoa." Dean exclaimed when Sam slumped into his arms the second the support of the door vanished.

Dean took his brother's shoulders, gently pushed Sam into the passenger's seat, and climbed behind the wheel. In the few minutes they had been apart, though Sam had fulfilled his mission, his condition seemed to have worsened. When Dean jarred him, Sam grimaced and pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead as hard as he could.

"Dean?" Sam croaked without opening his eyes.

"Right here." The older replied, repressing the urge to replace Sam's hand with his own.

Sam's breath hitched, obviously pained, and fear made its way into the pit of Dean's stomach. Sam's condition didn't make sense. Dizziness Dean understood, but that kind of headache? Only visions used to cause Sam such pain, and those were long gone.

"Are you going to drive?" Sam asked in a breathy voice.

The sudden question broke Dean's train of thought, and the hunter looked at his little brother as if Sam had lost his mind.

"You can't drive like this." Dean replied, shocked that his sibling was even asking.

"No, I-" Sam sucked in a breath and held it, forcing his eyes open. The amount of effort it took him to talk through the pain was obvious. "I mean, are _you_ going to _drive_?

Dean froze. His heart stopped, his lungs stuttered to a halt and his throat closed up fast and viciously. For the longest of minutes, his muscles refused to respond, and he remained paralyzed, with one hand on the wheel, and the other on his lap.

He had been so wired, so concentrated on getting out of Alec's house that he hadn't thought about _how_ they were going to do it. Until he found himself behind the wheel, being the only one in any condition to drive. Dean felt a shiver run down his spine and the palms of his hands started to sweat. Swallowing around his knotted throat, Dean fought to control the incipient bout of panic that was building up from deep inside his gut.

_C'mon, Dean. You can do this. It's easy, you've been doing it all your life. _

Yet the mere idea of bringing both hands to the wheel and pressing down on the gas made him sick. He clenched his jaw hard and closed his eyes, aware of how bad he was trembling. A deep breath did little to calm his nerves, but he could _not_ lose it now. He counted silently to five to rein in his emotions. Although his body was reacting to the crazy spin of his buried fears, Dean needed his mind to take over.

_Suck it up._

"Call Bobby." Sam suggested, his voice free of judgment.

Dean didn't look at Sam.

"He's not answering." He responded, with a vague shake of his head.

His voice sounded weird, hollow like a broken bell. Dean raised hesitant eyes to the road and for a flashing second he saw the illusion of a girl standing there, wide-eyed and terrified under the glow of his lights. The image made his whole body jolt and ripple under his skin, as if he had been shocked with electricity.

"He might answer now." Sam offered weakly.

Sam's wheezing voice got through to Dean, breaking the spell the older Winchester had fallen into. But Sam's kindness intensified Dean's sensation of asphyxia. If John had been there, he would never have let this stupid phobia go so far, but Sam wasn't like John either. Sam would wait for Dean until he was ready, regardless of how long it took.

It had been three damn months. The time was _right the fuck now_.

"N-No." Dean cleared his throat and willed his voice to be steady. "We're going."

The sway of the van when Dean got it onto the road resulted in an uncomfortable twist in his belly, he gripped the wheel tight and stepped on the gas. Dean felt unusually stiff, clumsy even, and overly alert. He didn't remember ever feeling so insecure behind the wheel. It was as if he had forgotten all the automatisms he had learned over years of driving. His anxiety spiked when they approached the center of the town and the traffic increased. When he stopped at a traffic light, Dean was close to hyperventilate.

He wasn't ready, it was a fact. And if his racing pulse didn't hinted at it clear enough, his trembling hands clued him in.

"Hey." Sam whispered.

Dean gasped a breath and repeatedly blinked away the sweat that tickled his brow. He had avoided looking at Sam since they had left Alec's house, because he didn't dare taking his eyes off the road. However, Sam sounded rough, and his tone dragged Dean's attention to him as the compass his little brother was.

"Are you holding up, kiddo?" Dean asked.

Sam looked small and vulnerable in the passenger seat of the van. Dean was used to the single front bench of the Impala, and even though Sam was within hand's reach, the gap between their seats felt too far.

"_You_?" Sam asked back.

Dean man let out a forced laugh and looked away from his brother.

"Not so good." He confessed frankly.

The next thing Dean felt was Sam's hand on his knee, gentle and stupid and _Sammy_. And while Dean shouldn't have needed the contact so greatly, it grounded him, like a lungful of oxygen in a cramped space.

"You're doing great." Sam assured.

Dean nodded, his hands less shaky as he claimed the road again, and drove more steadily, trusting the warmth of Sam's hand to act as a buffer between the phantom scream of a little girl installed inside his ears and the gray lane ahead. When they arrived safely to Bobby's yard, Dean could barely believe it, and it took the longest of minutes for his senses to acknowledge he could finally relax.

"We're here." Dean breathed out.

Sam smiled and slowly pulled his hand back, as Dean allowed his eyes to slip closed. The older hunter's chest was working overtime to keep up with the need for oxygen. As a result, white spots were starting to dance in his field of vision.

"You did it." Sam said, a note of reverence in his voice.

Dean blinked his eyes open and smiled. Honestly smiled, as he looked over at Sam.

"Yeah. I guess I did it." The older replied quietly.

"Dean, Sam!" Bobby's voice boomed suddenly, as the seasoned hunter appeared in the yard and ran towards them. "What happened, where is your car?"

Sam's face crumpled as Bobby's frantic call faded. Dean's attention sharpened immediately.

"Sam?" Dean whispered, worriedly.

"My head…" Sam whimpered, kneading his forehead hard.

"Boys!" Bobby insisted, concerned at their lack of answer.

Sam winced and shrank even more into himself. Ignoring Bobby, Dean hovered over his brother at a loss at what to do.

"Dean…" Sam begged blindly.

Dean felt his soul shattering a little more, as his little brother's naked plea stroked a primal chord in him.

"Hang on." Dean ground out.

Dean got out of the van as fast as he could, and ran to Sam's side. Bobby reached them at the same time.

"Dean? What's going on?" Bobby demanded, his voice rough with anxiety.

"Where the hell were you?" Dean shot back, stress getting the best of him. "I've called you a thousand times!"

"There's no signal down in the basement." Bobby apologized. "You okay? What's wrong with Sam?"

"I don't know." Dean muttered. "I don't know."

Dean opened the van door and reached out to help his brother up, but Sam had gone rigid and resisted to Dean's manhandling.

"C'mon, Sammy." The older Winchester cajoled gently. "We need to get you inside."

Sam unfolded inch by inch, clutching at Dean's forearms as if Dean could relieve his pain. The older was sure that Sam's strong grip was leaving marks on his skin, but he couldn't be bothered about it.

"The Furies are in the back, Bobby." Dean staggered as Sam leaned heavily against him. "Can you get them?" He requested with a grunt.

Bobby nodded, although it was obvious that he was still confused. "But Sam…"

"I got him." Dean insisted, firmly holding Sam to him.

Dean placed Sam's arm over his shoulder and started to half-carry him towards the porch, but not even half-way there the younger lost his footing. Bobby was next to them in a heartbeat, immediately reaching out to steady Sam.

It was then that Sam started to scream.

"NO!" Sam yelled, gripping his head with both hands. "GAHH, DEAN! Dean, it HURTS!"

Sam convulsed violently out of Dean's hold, taking the older sibling by surprise. But instead of letting his brother go, Dean tightened his grip and balanced them both, grabbing a handful of Sam's t-shirt and pulling Sam to his chest.

"Sam? Sammy, what?" Dean asked, distraughtly.

Sam didn't answer. He _couldn't._ He just screamed and screamed, his voice broken in a string of bloodcurdling sounds that surged from his very core and stabbed into Dean's heart.

"DEAN!" Sam cried desperately.

He clawed at his head, bucking in Dean's arms and against Dean's chest, as his brother frantically tried to stop the younger from hurting himself further. But Dean could barely hold Sam upright as he shook, pulsated with every scream as if he were about to break into pieces. The vibration resonated into Dean's own fibers, as if both brothers were connected through an electric current.

"No, no, no. Sam, please." Dean pleaded, his voice breaking as he tried to cradle Sam's head, envelope Sam's quavering shoulders, and hold him everywhere at once. "C'mon, man, easy. I got you."

Dean shot Bobby a desperate look, but the older hunter could only offer his shock and lack of answers written clearly across his blanching face.

"Make it stop." Sam keened softly "Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop..."

"Stop what?" Dean implored around his own tears. "Stop what, Sammy?"

Dean didn't know what was wrong. He didn't know how to stop Sam's pain and not knowing what to do felt like he was dying right along with Sam. Every scream from Sam pierced Dean's heart. Every gasp stole his breath. Sam was squirming in agony, _right the fuck_ _there_, into Dean's flesh. His brother. His _little_ brother.

"Sammy, _please_. Tell me what's wrong." Dean sobbed.

When the sole answer Dean obtained was a seizing string of broken yells from Sam, something inside the older sibling snapped. Dean's mind shut off, as his lips shaped a succession of vacant sounds that escaped any coherence or control. He was reduced to shushing tones, empty reassurances and wet pleas in the form of Sam's name. But none of his attempts were louder than Sam's torment.

"Dean, hold him." Bobby ordered.

His voice barely filtered through Dean's hazy brain, but even in the disconnected condition Dean was in, he responded to it. Bobby sounded firm and purposeful, and that was so much more than what he could offer Sam at the moment. Raising teary eyes to his friend, Dean glimpsed the shine of a needle in Bobby's hand.

"Bobby?" Dean croaked.

The older man met Dean's eyes briefly, before unceremoniously stabbing Sam's arm with the injection. Sam barely twitched at the prick, but his screams quickly faded into muted moans. Before Dean could wrap his head around what was happening, his brother's legs failed, and it was all Dean could do to lower them both gently to the ground.

"D-Dean?" Sam slurred, tightening the fingers twined in his brother's shirt.

Dean ran his trembling fingers soothingly through Sam's longs bangs, barely registering the movement in his distress.

"What was that?" Dean asked with a scratchy voice. God, had he been screaming too? "What did you give him?"

"Morphine." Bobby answered, gulping. "I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't know what else we could…"

"It's okay." Dean whispered frailly, not sure whether he was speaking to Bobby or Sam.

His little brother's body was relaxing by the second, while Dean trembled, exhausted and weakened after the longest few minutes of his life.

"We should take him inside before he's out." Bobby suggested, reaching for Sam.

"No." Dean resisted, holding Sam tighter to his chest. Sam let out a quiet whimper and sighed against Dean's collarbone. "Just…don't."

Bobby's face fell, and he withdrew his hand, but Dean had no strength left to feel bad for his friend. He simply couldn't stand the idea of causing Sam more pain. Sammy was _his_. And if it depended on Dean, he would gladly stay like this forever, as long as it meant that his brother wouldn't have to suffer ever again.

_He's breathing._

_His heart's beating._

_He's breathing._

_His heart's beating._

"Dean?" Bobby insisted kindly, "He'll be more comfortable in bed."

Bobby addressed him in soft, low tones, as if he was trying to reason with a dangerous animal. And Dean was exactly that: a wounded beast, clutching at his fallen flesh and blood. Sam had gone completely limp in his brother's arms, finally succumbing to the opiates rushing through his veins. He seemed peaceful, and Dean thought that he might be able to let his guard down now. Only in his mind, it was Cold Oak all over again, and Bobby was trying to take his brother from him. And Sam was _dead_, _dead_, _dead_.

"No." Dean refused Bobby's approach with a growl.

Bobby crouched next to him, keeping an unthreatening distance between himself and the two Winchesters. Because, last time? Bobby had earned himself a right hook to the chin for trying to pry Sam's corpse from his brother's grip.

_But he's breathing. His heart is beating..._

Dean was having trouble sorting it all out in his head, his memories were mixing up with the deafening, bruising agony Sam had just gone through. When Dean's mind conjured a silent _At least he's not suffering anymore, _he wished he could eat his gun right there.

"He's cold." Dean mumbled, shivering with Sam in his arms. "He's getting cold."

Bobby's eyes softened, and slowly, very slowly, he reached out again and ghosted a hand over the side of Sam's neck, under Dean's tense, wide-eyed gaze.

"No, he's not." Bobby reassured him. "But _you_ are, kid."

Dean flinched when Bobby withdrew his hand from _his_ neck. The older Winchester hadn't even realized that Bobby was checking his pulse and that was unforgivable. Sam was down and he had to be alert.

"You're going into shock." Bobby said gently.

No, that was impossible. Dean could not be going into shock. Shock was a response to trauma and blood loss: the way the human body had to try and keep functioning despite a serious injury. Dean hadn't been injured, how could he have been? He had been safely inside his car while Sam went into the Furies' house. While his brother put himself at risk and fought. Dean had no damn right to go into shock, because that would be the ultimate proof that he couldn't take care of Sam. As if Sam passed out, drugged to he gills, wasn't evidence enough.

_As long as I'm around, nothing bad will ever happen to you._

"C'mon, let's get you two inside." Bobby pressed.

Well, what right had Dean to hold onto his brother anyway? He had failed Sam in every way a man could fail. He was weak, pathetic; unable to look after the one person he loved more than life itself. For the last months, Dean had been nothing but a shadow of himself, the shaky mess he was now. It was no wonder Sam thought he needed to protect Dean. Sammy was hurt because of him, it was Dean's fault and no one else's.

"Bobby-" Dean swallowed.

He met his friend's gaze brokenly, wishing more than ever that his dad was there.

"Let me get him. It's alright, boy, breathe. Just let me get him." Bobby soothed him.

And Dean nodded. This time when the older man took Sam from him, Dean didn't protest. After all, he couldn't even carry his _own_ brother inside, because Dean's legs felt too weak even to hold his own weight. The cold was starting to get to him, and he was spent. Despite everything, he found the energy to trail after Bobby, his eyes glued on Sam's face.

They climbed up the stairs to the sibling's old room, where Bobby gently laid Sam on one of the twin beds and covered him with a blanket. He must have said something to Dean at some point, fatherly and concerned, along the lines of "Sam'll be okay" or "Tell me what happened" or "You should sit down", but none of it registered through the static in the older brother's ears. Dean was done. The last thing he managed to do was drag himself to Sam's bedside and allowed himself to slid to the floor, where he could still see his brother.

* * *

_TBC_


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey there! Thanks Megan, as always ;)**

**On with the show!**

* * *

_**Unleashed Fury**_

**VII**

Dean watched Sam while he slept, almost without daring to blink. Several hours had passed, but Sam hadn't twitched. Dean's anxiety did nothing but increase, but his mind cleared marginally in the quiet room. At some point in the wee hours of the morning, he even accepted the cup of coffee that Bobby had brought him, and managed a rough _thanks_ around the knot in his throat.

Sam finally stirred a couple of hours before sunrise, and Dean's stomach clenched in fearful expectation. It killed him seeing Sam drugged, but if his little brother was in pain when he woke up, Dean wouldn't be able to stand it. The older Winchester's mind was already on edge, his thoughts trapped in a loop of echoed cries and phantom sensations of clutching at Sammy's shaking body. Dean's hands hadn't stopped shaking yet, and his lungs screamed with every breath he took. It was like being electrocuted over and over again every time his brain hit "play" and relived the last few hours.

_Dean, make it stop. Please make it stop!_

Closing his eyes, Dean pressed both hands over his temples and exhaled shakily. Part of him wanted to run away from the room, from the house, from _everything_. It was a fleeting thought, but the truth behind it was too powerful to ignore. Dean wouldn't survive seeing Sam in that kind of pain again.

By the time Dean looked up, Sam's eyes were open half-mast and hazily fixed on him. Dean's breath caught and his body tensed. For the longest of seconds the siblings stared at each other in silence. Dean was about to decide that Sam was still too out of it to recognize him, when the younger Winchester gave Dean a small, doped-up smile.

Dean's eyes tingled, even as he felt his lips curving to return Sam smile.

_Hey._

The younger stared at Dean a few seconds longer, Sam's soft smile lingered as he took Dean in with trusting laziness. Any other time, a stoned Sam would have prompted Dean to store teasing ammunition for weeks, but not this time. As long as Sam wasn't in pain, anything else felt like relief.

"You okay?" Sam croaked, his eyes gaining focus.

Dean laughed, the sound sudden wet and uncontrolled. He was an inch away from falling apart, and something on his face must have given it away for Sam to pick on it.

"Am _I_ okay?" Dean rasped. He clenched his teeth, because the next laugh building inside his chest threatened to turn into something much more humiliating. "Jesus, Sam..." Dean breathed in and scrubbed at his eyes. "How many times are we going to do this?"

Dean's response seemed to confuse Sam further. The younger man blinked, probably struggling to focus and remember why his big brother was so worked up. Morphine had always hit Sam hard, and Bobby had given him a generous shot.

"What...?" Sam mumbled, raising a sluggish hand and pressing it over his eyes. "Am I drugged?"

Dean wasn't able to produce a chuckle this time. Sam's tone was getting to him, and Dean's words trembled subtly in return.

"Morphine." Dean confirmed guiltily. "You...it...it got a little rough."

Sam processed Dean's words slowly, and parted his lips to say something. A weak cough stole his voice and Sam licked his lips.

"Hang on. I'll bring you some water" Dean offered, getting to his feet so fast his knees cracked.

"Dean?" Sam whispered worriedly, rolling his head towards his brother as Dean stood.

"I'll be right back." The older Winchester reassured him.

Bringing Sam water was an easy task Dean could accomplish, and he needed desperately to focus on something to stop feeling so useless. He left the room and went straight to the kitchen on slightly shaky legs. As he filled a glass from the tap, Dean sensed Bobby's presence at the door.

"How is he doing?" Bobby asked, his voice heavy with weariness.

Obviously, John's old friend hadn't slept either. Dean took a deep breath and kept his back to Bobby as he replied. "He just woke up. I'm bringing him something to drink."

"We gave him a large dose. He should have been out for a while longer." Bobby said worriedly. "Is he okay?"

"He's still pretty hazy, but you know him." Dean said, forcing an off-handed tone.

If someone was stubborn enough to fight his way through sedation, that was Sam. Bobby let out a huffed laugh, showing his understanding. When the glass was full of water, the older Winchester turned off the tap and started towards the door.

"Dean." Bobby started.

The older Winchester looked up at his friend, and felt his stomach curling uncomfortably. Bobby hadn't moved from the door, and was effectively blocking Dean's exit.

"Did you get the Impala?" The younger hunter asked, before Bobby could continue.

The diversion tactic didn't escape Bobby, who nodded as a response to Dean question, but didn't let him get away with it.

"We gotta talk." Bobby insisted.

"Not now." Dean retorted in a low voice.

Despite Dean's good intentions, he realized that his words had sounded like a warning. The truth was that everything was too raw —_he_ was too raw. Dean had been dying to take a swing at something for hours, and given how weird things were with Bobby recently, it would be incredibly easy to snap. But that was something Dean really _really_ couldn't afford right now.

"I need to take this to Sam." He rationalized his refusal to Bobby, averting his eyes.

Bobby didn't budge right away, but Dean didn't meet his eyes either. The silent battle of wills ended a second later, when Bobby let out a quiet sigh and stepped back.

Dean passed by Bobby wordlessly, and hurried back to the room upstairs. In the few minutes he had been away from Sam, an uneasy feeling had set in the pit of his stomach. Dean was holding his breath by the time he reached the bedroom. Of course, Sam was where Dean had left him. But his little brother's eyes were closed and Dean hesitated at the door, stupidly clutching at the glass as if it held all the answers to the world. Bobby was right, Sam shouldn't have woken up so soon and he needed the rest. But the prospect of Dean spending more time in the silent room, with nothing else to do but unsuccessfully trying to keep the screaming in his head at bay, was suffocating.

Dean gave himself a mental shake to snap out of his morose thoughts, and approached the nightstand to leave the glass, trying not to disturb Sam. In the end, it turned out that Sam wasn't asleep, because the younger man stirred as soon as Dean got closer.

"Dean?" Sam slurred, blinking heavy lids open.

Dean turned automatically to meet his brother's eyes. Sam's vulnerable look tightened the lump inside Dean's throat, but the latter swallowed it down and forced a calm voice out.

"Hey, Sammy. I brought you some water. Wanna try to drink?" He offered gently.

Sam glanced at the glass and nodded and tried to sit up, but his limbs were slow to respond. Watching Sam's face pale as he clumsily tried to push himself up was too much for Dean, who reached out to help him despite all the Winchester's unspoken rules about age, pride and independence.

"Thanks." Sam murmured.

Dean shook his head lightly, and helped Sam drink, keeping an arm around the younger's back and a hand on his shoulder. Sam managed a few sips of water before slumping back.

"Dammit..." Sam cursed, clearly frustrated at his own weakness.

"Take it easy, man." Dean soothed.

Dean put the glass away and gave Sam's shoulder a gentle squeeze, reluctant to let go completely. The contact was helping Dean breathe easier, and his stomach had finally settled. He realized then that he wanted to hug Sam. _Really_ hug him. Dean hadn't felt a need so intense since the morning after he had sold his soul in exchange of Sam's life, when he had come back to the cabin and found Sam alive.

But even though the need to hold Sam close was physically painful, Dean set his jaw and resisted it. It was not the right time to give in to emotions, but to be strong and keep it together. As soon as Dean felt ready to let his little brother out of his sight for more than five minutes, he would go for a walk, a drive, a drink... hell, maybe a fuck. He would lick his wounds, get his head back in the game and come back his usual self. Any other thing wasn't going to help them. Anything else wasn't an option.

"Dean?" Sam questioned thickly.

Sam was blinking dazedly, as if the feat of sitting up had wiped him out completely. A slurred hue of disorientation had returned to his voice and Dean couldn't help shifting his hand from Sam's shoulder to the nape of his neck. Unconsciously, Sam leaned into his light touch.

"I'm here." Dean comforted him.

And he would be damned if he allowed his voice to break.

"Something…something's off." Sam mumbled, with a grimace.

Dean pursed his lips, not ready to relinquish his denial yet.

"You're high as a kite, Sammy." Dean tried, with a nervous chuckle. "That's what's off."

Sam's frown deepened as he lifted an uncoordinated hand to the side of his head. With the other hand, he found Dean's shirt and flexed his fingers in the fabric.

"No…it's…" Sam tried, shaking his head.

Dean squeezed the back of Sam's neck reflexively. The younger looked up, his eyes solemn.

"They got me, didn't they?" Sam said calmly.

It wasn't a question, so Dean didn't try to answer it. Instead, he avoided Sam's eyes altogether and started to pull away, but his brother's grip of his shirt stopped him. Dean didn't have the heart to force Sam's hand loose forcefully.

"_We gotta talk."_ Bobby had said.

Damn, Dean had only wanted some more time to wrap his head around everything. Sam should have been out a few hours longer anyway, even Bobby had said so. Dean didn't want to think about all the furies' victims dying less than a week after they were whammied. Or, about the fact that the only survivor was admitted into a mental hospital to keep her from killing herself. They had no idea what to do, and even though Dean knew that he shouldn't be wasting time lying to Sam, he just wanted to enjoy the fact that his little brother was awake before focusing on anything else.

"Dean?" Sam pushed.

The rough tone of his brother's voice dragged Dean's gaze back to Sam's. His little brother's eyes were wounded, his expression broken. Dean knew it was the morphine: if Sam had been himself, he would be putting on a brave face. Without Sam's strength, Dean felt lost. This wasn't the first time that Sam was injured, nor that it was Dean's responsibility to finish a hunt. He was accustomed to stand up against the odds, especially if he had to protect the most precious thing he had.

"Dean, talk to me." Sam pleaded.

This time though, Sam's pain had shaken Dean so badly that he didn't seem able to regain his balance. The fear of seeing Sam hurting again was paralyzing, and it made Dean continuously second-guess himself. He couldn't afford freezing on his brother when he needed him the most. Dean had to _react_.

_Don't be scared, Dean…_

"What happened, Sam? What did they do to you?" Dean asked Sam, his voice gravelly.

Sam straightened up against the headboard as he sensed the switch in the conversation, by which Dean turned into hunter and Sam turned into the witness, into the _victim_. The emotion that flashed across Sam's eyes was hard to identify, buried under layers of stubbornness and morphine. But it wasn't denial; that was all Dean. Sam always faced whatever challenge life threw at him with a fierce sense of _right the fuck at you_ determination. All their childhood miseries, Jess' death, and their father's... those events had almost destroyed him. But Sam had never stopped fighting, while Dean still went to bed some nights with a hollow sensation of unreality and _Dad can't be dead _in the pit of his stomach.

"Anything you remember, dude." Dean coaxed softly.

The younger frowned, licking his lips. His gaze turned inwards, as he searched for something that seemed to be buried deep inside his uncooperative mind. Sam grimaced and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, as drugs slowed his thoughts down. Dean knew by experience that everything felt floaty and thick when you were on morphine.

"We don't have to do this right now." Dean backpedaled. "Sam, maybe you should-"

"Megan was in the living room, drinking coffee." Sam started in a faraway voice, cutting Dean off. "Trisha was in the kitchen and I didn't see Alec right away. I approached Megan from behind, and choked her unconscious. Then Trisha... she was calling Megan." Sam hesitated and his frown deepened. "I tried to choke her too when she came into the living room, but she twisted in my arms, tried to get me with a knife and cried for Alec. I knocked her out with the butt of my gun."

Another grimace contorted Sam's face and he rolled his head on the pillow, as if he was trying to escape his own discomfort.

"I tried to be more careful with Alec, because Trisha had warned him." Sam continued, his voice losing strength. "I waited for him and..." Sam trailed off, as he slid his eyes to Dean. "Are you holding my hand?"

Dean opened and closed his mouth, caught off guard by the tired amusement in Sam's remark. His hand flexed reflexively around Sam's, as he awkwardly cleared his throat.

"My hand is placed over your wrist." The older deftly rephrased Sam's previous statement. "I'm just checking your pulse."

Sam tried to smile, but the levity was short-lived. Sam's groggy frown of distress turned more pronounced, and he twisted in the bed, curling towards his older brother. It was an unconscious gesture, young and instinctive, that told Dean that Sam wouldn't be awake or coherent much longer. Only will-power had allowed his little sibling to talk through the drugged veil, but Sam's body could only be tricked by adrenaline to a certain extent.

"Alec had on a baseball bat" Sam continued, his voice fading to a whisper.

Dean clenched his teeth, his eyes raking automatically over the bump on his brother's head.

"I pinned him against the wall, twisted his arm so that he'd let go of the bat and knocked his head against the wall. He went limp, and I thought he was out." Sam shut his eyes and tightened his fingers around Dean's wrist as he spoke. "But then he opened his eyes and attacked me with the bat. I remember crashing against the cabinet, scrambling to my feet and somehow knocking him out with a vase. You came in a short while after that."

Dean nodded slowly, swallowing to bring some moisture to his dry throat. He absently sipped the water that Sam had left, whishing it was whiskey or tequila, anything that would help him shake off the cold that gripped his veins.

"Did he say anything to you?" Dean asked, considering the possibility of a counter-spell.

Sam shook his head weakly. "No, he just looked at me, but..." Sam's hand went rigid around Dean's arm. "Dean, he _saw _me." He croaked.

The older hunter felt a shiver run down his spine at the weird, charged way Sam had pronounced the word "saw".

"He saw me and then it all became blurry" Sam's voice died off as his eyes dulled.

"Sammy? Sam, hey." Dean tried desperately to rouse him, shaking his brother's hand.

"Hurts, Dean..." The younger moaned in a thin thread of voice.

"What does?" Dean leaned closer to his brother, squeezing his hand.

"The noise... I can't...it's like a friggin' drill." Sam gasped and buried his head in the pillow. "It won't stop."

Dean tried to breathe around the lump in his throat, helplessly ghosting his free hand over Sam's side, as his brother writhed in the bed. If Sam's case was similar to Phoebe's, then drugs were the only wall between Sam and agony. Dean forcing his little brother to kick his way back to the surface just to give him answers was cruel, and it was making Dean nauseous.

"It gets worse if you're awake, doesn't it?" The older questioned sadly. "Sammy?"

Sam blinked big, hurt eyes at him, unwilling to admit that Dean was right. But Sam didn't need to; the older Winchester nodded in tacit understanding.

"Try to relax, bro." Dean said, softening his demeanor. "You need to rest."

"But, Dean…" The younger argued.

"It's alright." Dean reassured him, holding Sam's gaze. "Don't fight it."

"Are you mad?" Sam asked weakly.

Dean almost laughed at the ridiculous question. "No, I'm not." He promised. "I'm not, Sammy. Get some sleep."

Sam took his words as permission and let his eyes slip closed. Dean watched him as his sibling's features relaxed little by little. Soon, Sam was out again, hopefully for the next few hours.

It would be enough; Dean was fixing this _now_.

He didn't even jump when he felt Bobby's light hand on his back, as he had already been aware of the presence of the seasoned hunter hovering close by. However, the warm gesture didn't succeed to ease the tension in Dean's muscles, and John's first-born shrugged off his friend's hand almost immediately.

"Dean-" Bobby tried calmly.

"No." Dean shook his head automatically.

"He is going to be okay." Bobby said in a low voice.

"He was in pain again." The older Winchester countered, hating how his voice trembled.

"Dean, just let him sleep."

Dean scowled at Bobby, not appreciating taking orders from anyone when it concerned Sam, especially when that someone was asking him to leave Sam alone. Bobby stared him down, unfazed by Dean's attitude, until eventually Dean was forced to admit that his friend was right. Slowly, the elder Winchester let go of his brother and stood up. He felt weird inside his own skin, tired, but also buzzing with determination. Strangely cool.

Desperate.

He turned to Bobby with a deadly stare.

"Where are they?" Dean asked flatly.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

A panic room. If Dean hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it. When Bobby had said he was preparing something to contain the Furies in his basement, Dean had imagined some kind of lock up, sure, but not a full-fledged isolation space 100 % supernatural-proof. The hunter in him was secretly thrilled; it was the most amazing thing he had seen in a while. But there was also a part of Dean that thought about the weirdness of the situation. Somehow, knowing that it was a good idea to have a supernatural panic room in the basement was just _wrong_.

In any case, the Furies weren't going anywhere; the room was a real fortress. The idea of having Sam's torturers cornered and at his disposal sent a spark of fire down Dean's spine. Compassion had always been low on Dean's list of priorities when his little brother was suffering. He went straight for the door handle, but the heavy iron door didn't budge when he pulled it.

"It's locked." Bobby said evenly. "We can talk to them through the peephole."

"I'm not talking through a hole." Dean growled.

"Well, tough, because you'd be too stupid to go in." Bobby said, as he fixed Dean a stern look.

Dean's jaw clenched on its own accord; he itched to do something quick, drastic. The urge was so intense that his whole body throbbed with it.

"Open it, Bobby." Dean hissed.

"And then what are you going to do? Hand your ass over to them?" Bobby argued. "We have to figure out what we are going against, son, that was the plan."

"Fuck the plan. I want in, Bobby, _now_." Dean seethed. "Where is the key?"

The seasoned hunter stepped forwards, and held Dean's furious gaze without flinching. "There's only one key." Bobby informed him, patting the pocket of his flannel shirt. "So what's it going to be? Are you going to hit me, Dean?" Bobby challenged him.

Dean's lips curved up in a barely-controlled snarl. Hitting someone… _Jesus, that would feel good_. The anxiety of the last hours concentrated in his fists like lava, screaming to erupt. Dean knew it wasn't Bobby whom he wanted to hit, but if Bobby insisted on placing himself between a beast and its prey, it wouldn't end well.

"Dean, we don't need this now." The older hunter said with all the authority he could muster.

"Speak for yourself." Dean bit back.

"I speak for Sam." Bobby said in a low voice. "Your brother doesn't need this."

Dean faltered, his fury leaking out of him at the mention of his brother. He stepped back, physically dragging himself away as he pulled in a deep breath and got a grip on his explosive emotions. Bobby was right again. Actually, Bobby had been right too many times for Dean's liking, which meant that _Dean _was getting sloppy. He was stumbling his way through a hunt like an erratic, emotional newbie. If his dad could see him right now, he would tear him a new one for letting things get so out of hand. For having let _himself _get so out of shape.

"You're right." He mumbled. "I'm sorry."

The older hunter's expression softened, showing Dean that he had never been angry in the first place. In Bobby's presence, Dean sometimes felt as insecure as a little kid. He turned and leaned both hands against the wall, and bowed his head, breathing deeply.

"Okay." Dean said, his tone of voice much calmer. "What do we do now?"

Bobby stepped closer to Dean and replied confidently: "We learn more about what they are, what they want and how they do what they do. Then we figure out how to break their spell over Sam."

"And what if there isn't a way to break it?"

"There's always a way, Dean." Bobby affirmed self-assuredly.

Dean exhaled, and gave himself a last mental shake to boost himself and focus on the case. Even if the concept of _Sam _being a part of the case was hard to reconcile.

"Fine." Dean said, straightening up. "I got this, Bobby" He looked at Bobby in the eye and produced a rueful grimace. "But can you go and stay with Sam?"

The older man hesitated, clearly not liking the idea. His eyes betrayed him, as they flickered to the door. Dean realized that Bobby still thought Dean would go kamikaze into the panic room the second Bobby turned his back on the younger hunter.

"I won't try to open it." He reassured Bobby, a shade of a smile grazing his lips. "I just need you to stay with Sammy. I don't want him to be alone."

It was the truth. The only reason why Deanhadn't stayed with his brother was that waiting helplessly by Sam's side was driving Dean crazy. At least if Bobby was with the younger Winchester, Dean would be able to compartmentalize his concern and face the Furies without having his attention split between the bedroom and the basement.

"Please, Bobby." He pressed earnestly. "I promise I won't do anything stupid."

Bobby snorted. "Boy, if I had a penny for every time I've heard you say that..." But the older hunter relented with a long-suffering sigh and a resigned nod.

"I'll be upstairs." Bobby said as he left, and glanced one last time at the panic room door before walking up the stairs.

Dean's lips trembled as his father's friend left, but he repressed the automatic request for Bobby to return and get him if Sam's condition changed.

_Focus now._

Turning back, Dean pulled the peephole iron door open. It gave way with an eerie metallic shriek and Dean would have laughed if he hadn't been so wired. He quickly stepped aside to avoid meeting anyone's eyes.

"Who's there?"

Trisha's voice was the first sound to filter from behind the thick iron door. Her tone was confident and cold, just as Dean remembered her to be. Setting his jaw, Dean settled with his back against the wall, next to the door, and kept his eyes trained ahead.

"I said who's there! What is this place?" Trisha repeated venomously. "Show yourself, you bastard!"

Dean huffed a laugh and shook his head.

"Yeah, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He muttered.

There was a minute silence behind the closed door, until a second voice came through.

"Dean."

It was a male voice, grave and rich; beautiful in a dark, decadent way. The hunter shivered.

"How do you know my name?" Dean gritted out.

"Are you kidding? I've been dying to meet you." Alec's voice replied, full of amusement. "You're the most imprinted person in Sam's mind. It's like I already know you. How's Sam doing, by the way?"

The cruel condescension of Alec's words caused Dean's blood to boil. The older Winchester barely repressed the urge to turn around and try to choke Alec through the hole.

"How about _you_ tell _me_, Alec." He growled. "What the Hell did you do to my brother?"

The soft chuckle that ensued sounded muffled through the inches of solid iron that separated them, but its malice was clearly audible. Dean canted his head towards the peephole, itching to confront them face to face. It was a miracle he kept the presence of mind to restrain himself.

"He didn't do anything." Trisha retorted, jumping to Alec's defense. "_We_ haven't done _anything_."

"Unlike you." Megan intervened, her voice softer but as packed with disdain as the others.

Alec chuckled again. "Sounds like you've got the girls quite worked up, Dean" He teased. "Then of course, it's not civil to kidnap people and lock them up in a bunker."

"You're not _people_." Dean snarled.

"Oh, really?" Alec challenged, his voice sharpening in the edges. "And what do you think we are?"

The oldest Winchester fisted his hands at his sides.

"Furies." The word sounded harsh, like a curse on Dean's lips. "Erinyes. The Angry ones."

His accusation was met with a huff from Alec, and Dean thought he could hear Trisha whispering something to Megan.

"We prefer to refer to ourselves as The Gracious Ones" Megan remarked, languorously.

"Yeah?" Dean arched an eyebrow at the empty basement. "What about self-righteous, blood-thirsty nut jobs?"

As a profound sense of hatred radiated from the panic room, Dean smiled to himself.

"What?" He pushed. "You don't like my definition?"

"You're a funny guy, Dean." Alec said coldly, his previous scorn subtly edging into anger. "Sam thinks that about you too."

Dean felt his throat constricting as he took the hit, and his fisted hands tingled, full of electrical rage. The sole idea of that monster…_raping_ his brother's mind made the hunter want to break Alec's neck. The Fury had no right to talk about Sam as if he knew him. He had no right to talk about Sam, period.

"I'm going to ask you one more time." Dean growled, menacingly. "_What_ are you doing to my brother?"

"You still don't get it." Alec's voice sounded close, right by the peephole. "We're not doing anything to him."

"All we did was open a door." Trisha hissed behind her friend.

"So that he could see himself as we see him." Megan added.

Dean again repressed the urge to smack his fist through the opening.

"What does that mean?" He demanded, his tone tense.

"It means that it is his own darkness that will end him." Alec answered in the gentlest of voices. "Not us."

"The things he's done." Trisha's smile permeated into her voice and Dean felt sick to his stomach at the pleasure she seemed to feel while reminiscing on Sam's secrets. "Guilt will consume him. And Justice will prevail."

"Justice?" Dean barked. "This is not justice!"

"We don't choose who we lay our eyes upon." Alec chimed in. "Things are just the way they are, Dean."

The jerk had adopted a condescending tone of voice again. It was more than Dean could stand.

"Right, you don't control it…you don't _choose_ them." Dean seethed, "That's why the first poor devil you wasted was your father? Tell me Alec, for how long did he beat you until you decided to dish out 'justice' to Daddy?"

There was silence again and Dean knew he had hit a nerve. Alec and the girls were acting like patronizing, cruel, cold-hearted motherfuckers and he wouldn't let them get away with it.

"The people we've touched were guilty." Trisha intervened.

"You don't have the right to judge that." Dean denied.

"Andyou are telling _us_ that? A hunter?" Trisha huffed.

"Who has that right, then? God?" Alec laughed sonorously. "Don't you get it, Dean? We _are_ Gods."

Dean shook his head, nausea mixing with the fire in his gut. He was clenching his jaw so hard it had started to ache.

"We are talking about abusers, liars, cheaters, thieves and murderers, Dean." Megan said, her tone suggesting a double-edged patience.

"Of which Sam is none of!" Dean ground out.

"Sam is all of those, and worse." Alec said insisted grimly.

"You don't know anything about my brother!" The older Winchester exclaimed.

"Oh, man, I know him better than you'd think. Better than you never will."

"SHUT UP!" Dean yelled, punching the door with all his might.

The dull metallic sound didn't do any justice to the pain that flared in his knuckles and spread through his hand. Eyes closed, Dean panted through the vicious throbbing, unwilling to give away his pain or his wild emotions. Unfortunately, his efforts were in vain.

"You're scared. I don't need to see you to know that." Alec crooned softly. "Don't worry, it will be over soon."

Alec's words would have been received with an explosion of fury a few seconds before, but this time they only caused Dean's throat to constrict even more. The hunter straightened his back against the wall, cradling his fist absently as he tried to swallow back the incipient tears that thickened his voice.

"I'm not letting you have my brother." Dean said.

"You can't save him, Dean." Alec said. "The walls he has built to keep his crimes from swallowing him whole are already crumbling. You know I'm right. You've heard him _scream_."

Dean gritted out an indefinite growl, born deep in his throat. "I'll kill you." He heard himself saying.

It was barely a whisper, but Dean knew it hadn't gone unheard. Gathering all his confidence, Dean squared his shoulders and forced his voice to sound strong and menacing. "If you don't release him right now I swear to God I'll kill the three of you right here and now." He said matter-of-factly, his tone soaked in hatred.

"That won't save him." Alec said softly, almost compassionately. "Even if we die, our spirits have been cast, and we won't leave until we've finished our mission."

Dean raised his eyes.

_Mission?_

Alec could have being referring to Sam. Maybe he meant Phoebe at the hospital. But there had been something in the way Alec had said it that spoke of longing, rather than hunger. Then Dean remembered what Megan had said back at Trisha's place.

_Don't you sometimes feel like...there's somewhere else, someone else we should…_

She hadn't finished the sentence, but Dean recognized the feeling, the search for something, _someone_, lost. His pulse accelerated as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think. The detail was important, Dean could sense it. He just needed time to figure out what it meant.

"How long does Sam have?" Dean said in a rough voice.

"It depends on how much he wants to resist us. How much he wants to suffer." Megan answered simply.

"How much you blame him." Trisha added.

"What?" Dean's head snapped to the open peephole.

Again, Alec's voice sounded impossibly near. Dean could almost feel Alec's breathe on the side of his face, but he couldn't tear himself away from the door as he waited for an answer.

"You can't lie to him now, Dean." Alec explained, delighted. "He's so open to guilt that he'll absorb the culpability if someone resents him. His guilt, your blame; you know all his secrets, Dean. You are our battering ram in this siege."

Dean's knees threatened to buckle and he leaned harder against the wall, as his thoughts ran in circles.

_I did that to him?_

White spots danced in the edges of his vision and Dean tasted bile in the back of his throat.

"That's not…" Dean's breath hitched, cutting off his words, even as he shook his head.

_Sam screaming. Sam clawing at his head, bucking in Dean's arms and against Dean's chest..._

His little brother had been fine when Dean had found him in Alec's house, just dazed. Sam had even kept him company in the car during the arduous drive back to Bobby's. It was then that he had broken. More than that, Sam had _exploded_.

_No._ Dean said to himself. _It can't be_.

They hadn't been alone. When Sam had started screaming as if someone was cracking his skull open, Bobby was there… holding Sam's arm.

"Shit." Dean murmured.

He couldn't think of a reason why Bobby would blame Sam, other than perhaps something Dean didn't know; the huge, pink elephant in the damn room. Sam and Bobby hadn't talked to each other for months, and even now the air was strained when it was shared by the two of them.

"_I got this, Bobby. But can you go and stay with Sam?"_

"Shit." Dean repeated.

And then started to run.

**oooooooooooooOooooooooooooo**

"Get away from him!" Dean ordered, as soon as he reached Sam's bedroom.

Bobby startled at Dean's entrance and shot the agitated hunter a wary look. He had been sitting by Sam's bedside, watching over the younger hunter as he checked a book about Greek Mythology. Sam seemed asleep, his brow furrowed, but he stirred when he heard Dean's voice.

"What's wrong?" Bobby asked, alarmed.

"Bobby, get away from him. Now." Dean commanded from the door-jam.

Bobby slowly rose to his feet, his gaze jumping from Dean to Sam.

"Why?" He asked, taken aback.

"You're enhancing them, Bobby. This…tension between you two. It's hurting him." Dean explained tersely.

Bobby's eyes widened dramatically and he quickly backed away from Sam. Judging by his disconcerted expression, he still didn't understand what was going on. But he had reacted on instinct at the possibility of harming the youngest Winchester unknowingly.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, meeting Dean's eyes warily.

"Th-they told me, it's like they're trying to…ram their way inside his mind and break him from the inside." Dean stammered. His head was starting to swim as the adrenaline rush of the last minutes crashed through him. "They feed on guilt, and somehow whatever the hell is going on between you two is smashing against his defenses too."

Bobby opened and closed his mouth like a fish, at a loss for words. What Dean was saying was hard to believe, but it made sense. As soon as Bobby realized that too, his expression filled up with sorrow.

"My God." He whispered, running his hand through his hair and fumbling helplessly with his cap. "Dean, I didn't-"

"I'm getting him out of here." Dean said flatly, cutting his friend off. "I want my brother as far from those monsters as possible."

_Away from you_.

Bobby heard the implied subtext as clear as if Dean had said it aloud. The younger man swallowed hard and held Bobby's gaze ruefully. Dean knew honest-to-God that Bobby didn't mean to harm to Sam, but couldn't be bothered to spare his friend's feelings when he was in full protective mode. That is, the particular hard-core mode that caused Dean's thoughts to tunnel into a sole concept. Running through the flames engulfing them. Getting Sam somewhere safe before everything turned to ashes.

_Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Go, Dean, go!_

Bobby probably read it all in Dean's desperate features, as it was impossible for him to hide something that life had carved in him so deeply. Finally, John's friend averted his eyes, nodded, and started tiredly towards the door.

"He's awake again." He whispered to Dean, before leaving the siblings alone in the room.

Dean's attention immediately turned to his brother. His first impulse was to run to Sam's side, but instead of doing that, he stood frozen at the door. He didn't dare to go further into the room, because the risk of hurting Sam was as solid as the ball of lead rolling in Dean's stomach. What if Bobby wasn't the only one who detonated the mines inside Sammy's head? Even if the morphine was supposed to keep Sam safe for a while, even if it was Dean, and not Sam, who was shaking and needed the support of the wall to stay on his feet, the mere idea of causing Sam more pain was unbearable.

"Does it hurt?" Dean asked roughly, his voice barely a whisper around the lump in his throat.

Sam's eyes were half-open and fixed somewhere distant. It took a second for the younger Winchester to react to his brother's voice.

"What?" Sam mumbled thickly, a light frown crinkling his brow.

Dean clenched his fists, as he repressed the childhood gesture of biting his knuckles, or even the adult impulse of throwing a punch into the wall.

"W-When... if I-" Dean closed his eyes and pulled in a broken breath. Blubbering like a messed up kid, while it may be an accurate reflection of his state of mind, wasn't going to help Sam. "If I come closer to you or if I touch you… does it hurt?"

Sam's face crumpled in confusion. "What?" He repeated, more intently this time. "No, Dean... Why would it hurt?"

Dean felt himself going weak in the knees, and reached out to hold onto the doorframe.

"Are you sure?" Dean pressed, almost desperate for Sam's confirmation. He was starting to get lightheaded, as if his brother's answer was the air he needed. "It doesn't... get worse if I-"

"No." Sam reassured him, increasingly agitated under the imposed opiate calmness, as he picked up on his brother's fear through the fog. "Dean, what's going on?"

Dean couldn't answer right away, too weak with relief to do anything else other than resting his forehead against the doorframe.

"Dean?" Sam called out worriedly.

Dean felt the pull of his little brother's call. It was Sam's voice that prompted him to tear himself from the door. With every step Dean took towards Sam, he got further away from his almost-breakdown, and closer to the frail mirage of control that having a purpose gave him.

He walked to Sam on only slightly shaky legs, steeling himself against the kid's troubled gaze.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam questioned, his gaze tenuous as he grabbed onto Dean's arm and soon as his big brother was within reach.

Dean froze, fearing that Sam would start screaming at any moment. Only when the younger tugged at Dean's elbow to pull him closer, did Dean's body snap out of his trance.

"Nothing's wrong." Dean replied automatically, as he responded to Sam's anxious hold and helped his brother upright. "C'mon, Sammy. We gotta go."

Sam let out a faint groan when Dean moved him, and tried to bat his brother's hands away, as he dazedly tilted his head to search Dean's gaze.

"What happened?" Sam pressed, as urgently as he could muster. "You talked to them, didn't you? You alright?"

Dean stopped trying to get Sam out of bed and met the kid's dilated pupils. His brother didn't understand what had gotten into him and Dean couldn't blame him, because when he acted on automatic pilot, he was disconnected of any logic.

"I'm fine." Dean inhaled, exhaled, and breathed in again to gain some clarity. "Everything's fine, but we have to go."

"Why?"

"Just…" Dean bit his lip and squeezed Sam's biceps, pleadingly. "I'll explain later, okay? I promise. But I need you to help me here. I need you to trust me now."

Sam stared into Dean's eyes with a frown, uncomprehending but subdued implicitly by his inherent trust in Dean. That trust was the only thing that had ever been able to make Sam act against his questioning nature, and it moved Dean more than he would ever admit to his brother or himself.

"Okay." The younger whispered, as he shrugged lightly.

Dean lips tugged up a little, stupidly glad that Sam still believed in him.

"Think you can walk if I help you?" He asked Sam.

His brother seemed to consider the question, and finally managed a weak nod. Still, Dean had to balance him as soon as Sam was on his feet and listed woozily against his brother's chest. The younger blinked slowly as he got used to the new position, his head brushing Dean's shoulder, and his breath soft next to Dean's neck. Sam was trembling like a new-born colt that had to use every ounce of strength and willpower he possessed to hold his own weight. Dean possessively tightened his arms around his brother's shaky frame, even as he told himself that this was better than before, when Sam had been spasming in body-wrenching pain.

"You doing alright?" Dean asked him, in a gentle tone.

Sam nodded and pulled away from his brother, as if to prove it was true. Dean allowed him to but didn't let go of his Sam. Instead, he put Sam's arms across his shoulders and started to guide him out. His little brother obligingly staggered along with him. Luckily, Sam was coherent, but that didn't help Dean hate drugs any less_. _A few drops of that venom and his strong, resilient and independent sibling had been rendered into a dependent, broken kid, deprived of all shade of control.

This shouldn't be happening, it was all wrong. Dean needed Sam to be okay or everything else would spin out of control.

They made their slow, wavering way downstairs in silence. Sam kept his eyes closed or open to slits, stubbornly fixed on the floor. His head bobbed with every step, but he was making a valiant effort to keep himself upright, albeit tilted towards Dean. When they arrived in the living room, something caught Sam's attention and Dean felt his brother's change of focus almost as if their nerves where connected, because Sam was so close against Dean's side, he was hyper alert of the slightest twitch in Sam's body.

"Sammy?" Dean questioned, concern lacing his voice.

Sam raised his eyes a few inches and the tremble in his muscles rippled into Dean's core. But then the younger surprised him by giving a weak smile and Dean looked up too. Bobby was in the corner, tension making his fists clench helplessly at his sides as he watched them go with the saddest expression Dean had seen since the ominous 48 hours when both siblings had died.

"Bobby." Sam acknowledged faintly.

Bobby swallowed before returning the smile, but didn't try to move closer, as much as it obviously pained him not being of help. Dean looked down, as regret stung bitterly behind his eyes. Bobby would plunge a knife into himself before hurting any of John's sons. Yet, the older Winchester's unconscious reaction was to hold his brother more firmly, needy for contact and warmth and familiar pulse under the grasp he had of Sam's wrist over his shoulder. It was also a protective movement, in a way that kept Bobby immobile where he was. The two older men shared a long look that spoke of concern and frustrated guilt.

"Can you get the door?" Dean asked him softly.

Bobby's jaw twitched, but he nodded almost immediately and hurried to open the door for them. Bobby also went ahead to the Impala and opened the passenger's door, before retreating a few steps to let Dean fold Sam gently into the front seat. The short walk and the fresh air sobered Sam a little, but as soon as he was settled, he curled into himself with a shiver.

_A blanket_, Dean thought. _Dammit, why didn't I think of getting a blanket_.

He was slipping, leaving out obvious details that should not have escaped him. They _wouldn't _have escaped him if there hadn't been so much white noise in his head. How could he fix this mess if he couldn't think of a damn blanket? Dean's chest constricted as he closed the door on his barely conscious brother's side. A strange feeling of detachment was starting to wash over Dean, as his breathing became shallower.

_Don't you _dare. _You, damn pussy, you are _not _having a stupid panic attack._

There was a blanket in the trunk. It was always there, with the second emergency kit. Dean had put them in there himself. It was his father's methodical training, John's way to do things. How could Dean have forgotten that?

_Don't lose it now. Not yet. C'mon, Dean, you can do this, just get the blanket and get your brother somewhere safe before you break._

"Dean."

Bobby's voice sounded far away. Dean ignored it, walked around the car and put the key into the trunk lock.

"Hey." Bobby tried again.

_Don't look back. Don't look back. Don't look back._

"Son, stop." The older hunter tried, concerned.

The trunk wouldn't budge. What the fuck was wrong with it? Dean growled and turned the key more forcefully, but the lock didn't give as he yanked at it in earnest. In that moment, he would have downright used a crowbar if he had had one, or if Bobby hadn't grabbed his arm.

"Stop!" Bobby ordered.

Dean whirled around and pulled his arm free, ready to take a swing. Bobby had already backed off, and had his palms in the air.

"Easy." Bobby said, his voice dropping and octave. It was soothing, as his father's low, rumbling tone when he said something important and needed Dean to pay attention. "Just lemme."

John's friend took the key from him, slow and easy, as if he was dealing with a skittish animal. He opened the trunk in his first attempt, and then held it open wider for Dean, who bitterly swallowed the irrational wave of betrayal towards his car that enveloped him.

"What do you need?" Bobby asked him, gesturing at the trunk.

"The blanket." Dean mumbled, without ungluing his eyes from the ground.

Bobby retrieved it, closed the lid and passed the worn gray blanket to Dean, who took it wordlessly. Digging his fingertips in the soft fabric gave a sense of solid structure to his following steps, namely, make Sammy comfortable and get Sammy back to the motel. As long as he didn't think about _after_, Dean could deal with the _now_, and he craved the calming sense of numbness of the little, easy actions to shut his brain.

"Dean." Bobby tried to reach him once again, his voice gentle and worried eating at Dean's crumbling walls.

The older Winchester shook his head. He only wanted to go to the driver's side and leave, but Bobby was blocking his way, going all the way around the car seemed stupid and such a simple decision was tearing Dean apart. Bobby stepped closer and for a second it seemed like he would try to grasp Dean's shoulder, but the younger man scrambled away.

"No." Dean said with a quavering voice, as he clutched the blanket as a shield between himself and Bobby.

"Dean..."

"Don't." Dean warned, taking an automatic step back as Bobby took another one forward. "Just don't, not now. I- I can't."

If Bobby tried to hug him at that moment, that would be it. Dean would break down on his friend's shoulder and he wouldn't be able to pull himself together after that. So as appealing as the idea of letting go was, and even though he knew that Bobby was safe, Dean couldn't afford it.

"Okay, kid. But you gotta breathe now." Bobby said evenly, respecting Dean's space. "Stop for a minute and breathe."

"No, I-" Dean shook his head again, "I need to-"

"You can't drive like this, Dean. You need to calm down, alright?" Bobby said reasonably.

The younger hunter snorted and unconsciously searched for something to lean on. Because Bobby was right, whether Dean liked it or not: numbness insisted on eluding him and the rapid beating of his heart was making him wobbly. As his back found the trunk, Dean bent forwards a little and forced air into his lungs. Bobby approached him carefully, and leaned against the car by Dean's side, in silent support.

"I'm sorry." Dean whispered, without looking at Bobby. "I know this is not your fault."

Bobby scratched his chin. His expression was weary as he answered. "No, _I _am sorry. He's your brother; you do what you gotta do."

Dean's chin trembled a little and he ducked his head to avoid his friend's compassionate gaze.

"He's an asshole." Dean blurted. "The damn idiot went against them alone. He fucking decked me! And he did it to protect me. And now, now he…"

Bobby came closer, his arm almost brushing Dean's, and the young man choked as a quiet sob stole his breath.

"They are torturing him, Bobby. They are going to twist him and tear at him until he shatters, until he wants to kill himself. He-" Dean blubbered, lungs seizing at the memory of Sam squirming in his arms, begging Dean to make it stop. "He's m-my little brother… and I couldn't… I can't…"

Bobby faced Dean and placed both hands on the younger's shoulders. He squeezed Dean's tense back, and the latter couldn't bring himself to shrug his friend away.

"It's not going to come to that" Bobby said firmly. "Sam will be alright, Dean. We're going to fix this."

Dean sniffled and raised wet eyes to Bobby. He wanted to believe his friend so _badly_ he almost didn't mind Bobby seeing the tears that brimmed in his eyes.

"Help me." He pleaded. . "Help him, Bobby, please."

Bobby swallowed and gave Dean's cheek a soft pat.

"You know you don't have to tell me that." The older stated softly.

Dean nodded and managed a small, embarrassed smile. "I'll call you later, alright?" He said, as he wiped at his eyes.

Bobby recognized that the moment was over and let go of John's first-born with a parting shake.

"You do that, boy." Bobby replied. He glanced through the windshield and his expression softened. "Take care of him."

Dean stood upright, relinquishing the car's support, and shot Bobby a firm stare.

"You know you don't have to ask _me_ that."

Bobby gave a solemn nod and stepped away from the Impala and from Dean, who started towards the driver's door.

"Dean." Bobby called.

The younger hunter turned in time to catch the bottle of pills that Bobby threw at him.

"What's this?" Dean asked.

Bobby stole another glance at Sam before answering.

"More morphine." He answered. "In case it gets really bad. There's also some

Vicodin in there. Sedatives helped him against the spell, right?"

Dean clenched his jaw and rolled the bottle in his hand.

"Thanks." He said to Bobby and quirked his lips as a goodbye.

He still felt weird when he took his seat behind the wheel, but Dean didn't let fear seize him this time. He had more pressing things in mind, like Sam whimpering next to him as he instinctively rolled his head towards his big brother, his eyes closed and his forehead scrunched in discomfort. Dean tucked the blanket around Sam's torso, hoping in vain that he wouldn't rouse him during the process.

"D'n?"

No such luck.

"Right here." Dean whispered back.

Sam peered at him through glassy eyes, then at the wheel.

"I'm sorry you have to drive." The younger mumbled, as his eyes slipped closed again.

Dean gave Sam's knee a brief squeeze and started the car.

"Don't be." He said determinedly. "It's my job."

* * *

_TBC_


	8. Chapter 8

**Back on the road ^_^ Thank you all, guys. You keep me going.**

**Thanks beta de mi corazón. Good luck tomorrow!**

* * *

_**Unleashed Fury**_

**VIII**

Sam woke up slowly, groggily finding his way to consciousness through too many heavy layers of hazy sleep. He blinked his eyes open sluggishly, as he tried to focus either his sight or his mind. Little by little, the rest of his senses began to kick in and his muscles flexed, as if trying to take stock of their own condition. It was then that Sam realized that he was lying on his belly, somewhere soft and warm that smelled faintly of industrial detergent. His brain was still numb, awareness refusing to come to him completely, but at last his eyes recognized the white sheets. He was in a bed. Motel.

_Dean?_

The younger Winchester groaned softly and stirred, somewhat disconnected from his own body. He tried to find leverage to sit up, shake his head and loosen the cobwebs of sleep that were settled inside his brain. Because something wasn't right; he felt badly hung-over, but he couldn't remember drinking. In fact, he couldn't remember anything. The blank in his memory caused his pulse to speed up as his self-preservation instinct rushed through his veins. Adrenaline allowed Sam to prop himself up on his elbows, and he pressed his thumbs hard against his temples, trying to reach back for answers in the recesses of his mind. His head throbbed dully and there was a weird, cardboard taste in the back of his throat. Even swallowing hurt. Had he been screaming?

To that point, Sam thought he remembered himself yelling, but the memory was foggy, as if it had been a dream. He remembered pain, excruciating and relentless pain, as if a white hot knife was plunged between his eyes and twisted viciously over and over again. The echo of the torture made his heart jolt and Sam forced his barely responding body to push himself upright.

"Easy, tiger." A voice reassured him softly from somewhere nearby.

Sam's head snapped to his right so fast that his vision swam. He fisted the sheets to ground himself until the white spots in his vision cleared out, and he found Dean, sitting at the desk just a few feet from him.

"Sorry." Sam's brother's lips twitched up, as he composed a weak grimace. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Sam couldn't think of a response. His mouth was so dry that even if he had wanted to say something, he would have been unlikely to voice it. But seeing Dean had the immediate effect of calming him down, his brother's presence a blanket of relief that enveloped Sam and allowed him to stand down. Suddenly weak, Sam sank against the pillow and drank in the sight of Dean in between slow blinks.

"How are you feeling?" Dean asked roughly.

The younger brother frowned, considering the question. His brain felt fuzzy and his body tingled all over. The sensation wasn't totally unfamiliar, but he couldn't bring himself to place it. Again, trying to remember what had happened made his head throb. Wearily, he made a renewed attempt to push himself up and managed to sit with his feet planted on the carpet. He was dizzy as hell, but at least the room around him was finally becoming solid. Sam dared to try and get to his feet, but the move was too fast, and the young hunter slumped back down to the bed.

"Shit." He croaked.

To be the first word he managed past cracked lips, "shit" didn't even begin to cover how bad the world was tilting out of his axis. He didn't see Dean standing or approaching him, but Sam felt the bed dip next to him. Soon, his brother's steady hands were on his back and shoulder, stopping what must have been about to become a nosedive.

"Drink." Dean said simply, bringing a glass to Sam's lips.

Sam opened blurry eyes, even though he didn't remember closing them, and reached clumsily for the glass. Dean didn't let go of it, and tipped the rim to his brother's mouth. Sam drank greedily.

"Slowly." Dean instructed.

Sam wanted to protest, but a shiver stole his retort. His sleep-warm skin was starting to cool and he felt goose bumps tightening the skin of his forearms. Knowingly, Dean rubbed his brother's back up and down with his free hand in a casual gesture.

It was Dean's touch that opened the door, like a spark on a fuse. All of a sudden, Sam's mind was flooded with a hundred different impressions, echoes of himself screaming, thrashing in his bed. He'd had dreams of Jess and Mary. He had dreamed of fire and death and it had been so vivid that they had engulfed him, consumed his heart and overpowered his soul. The onslaught of disjointed recollections broke through his wavering consciousness and overwhelmed his senses. Sam sputtered on the water and started to cough.

"Shit." Sam repeated, between gasps.

Dean withdrew the glass quickly and supported his brother as he coughed, but Sam batted his hands away. He remembered everything now: the Furies, the intense pain and the silky, traitorous relief of drugs. And then Dean, always Dean, fading in and out. Sam scrambled to his feet and held a hand up to stop Dean from steadying him. He needed space; some air to breathe.

Stumbling, Sam made his way to the bathroom, almost landing face-first in the sink. His stomach lurched and he knew he was going to puke, but the toilet seemed impossibly far away. Sam held onto the sink and opened the tap with trembling fingers. He splashed cold water on his face and neck, breathing heavily through his nose. The cool liquid made him shiver again, but it also pushed the nausea back. Sam leaned more of his weight against the sink, not trusting his shaky legs, and let the water run soothingly over his skin, as he waited for his gut to settle.

When he finally considered himself steady enough, Sam turned the tap off, groped for a towel and buried his pounding head in the soft fabric. He felt better and enjoyed being clear-headed after what seemed like a lifetime of fogginess, but there still was a heavy knot in the pit of his stomach that refused to unclench. With a heavy sigh, he raised his eyes and peered at his image on the mirror. A gasp stole his breath and his heart accelerated impossibly fast when he found Jess' image staring back at him in the reflection.

_Why, Sam?_

Sam whirled around, knocking his back against the edge of the sink in the process, but Jess wasn't anywhere in sight. On cue with Sam's wild heartbeat, his headache ratcheted up again and the young man bowed his head, panting heavily through the pain as he grasped the sink in a white-knuckled grip. It had been years since the last time he had imagined seeing Jess. Her face had plagued him relentlessly for months after her death, and for a while Sam had believed that he was going crazy. But it had gotten better; _he_ had gotten better. Now his pulse was racing and his throat was closing up with fresh tears, just like they had done the day she had burst into flames.

Jess kept asking him why. _Why am I dead, Sam?_ And knowing what he did now, it was undeniable that _he _was what her ghost was so desperately searching for.

"Are you okay?" Dean's low voice reached Sam.

Sam glanced at the door and found his brother watching him gravely. Dean was leaning against the doorframe with a fake nonchalance, but his expression was tight. The younger Winchester swallowed as he fought to get a grip on himself, but his head throbbed mercilessly and he had to clench his teeth to bite back a groan.

"I'm fine." He gritted.

Dean pursed his lips and arched an eyebrow in clear disbelief.

"Of course you are." Dean sighed.

Sam slid his eyes to his brother once again, his attention drawn by the tired note in the elder's voice. His concern for Dean distracted Sam from his own misery, as the younger took in the disheveled appearance of his brother and the dark circles under Dean's eyes, stark against his pale skin. This brought another bout of memories, a far away certainty of frantic hands trying to hold him down, hold him together. Just hold him. It had been Dean's hands that had gotten him through the night, Dean's voice broken beyond distress, shushing him, begging him to _please_, _please Sammy_ _calm down_.

"Did you get any sleep?" Sam asked, tilting his head to Dean.

His brother stared at him for a long moment and his expression hardened. Dean's answer was a sharp shake of his head.

"For Christ sake, will you _stop_ asking me that?" Dean hissed.

Sam reeled, unprepared for the sudden heat in his brother's words, but before he could try to say anything, Dean backed away from the door and returned to the room. Sam licked his lips and rubbed his forehead, trying to think around the insistent pain in his head and the renewed ache of seeing Jess in front of him. Although he was still a little queasy, he forced himself to follow Dean.

Sam's brother was near the table, downing the rest of his coffee in a large cup he had been sipping when Sam had woken up. The younger sibling approached him gingerly, and winced when he glanced at the bedside clock and saw the time. It was 8:07 in the morning, which meant that Sam had lost almost a whole day. A whole day that Dean had surely spent worried out of his mind.

"I'm sorry." Sam whispered.

Dean swallowed, before he spared Sam a glance.

"That's your breakfast." He said simply.

Sam bit his lip when his unsettled stomach protested at the idea.

"I'm not really hungry." Sam said weakly.

"Well, tough." Dean retorted.

If Sam hadn't felt crappy _and_ guilty, he would have probably rebelled against being bossed around, but he didn't have the energy. His vision was playing tricks on him again and he fumbled for a chair to sit. The second he sank into the wooden surface, he buried his head on his hands.

_Why Sam?_

The wave of heart-clenching despair that followed the echo of Jess' voice in his head, brought a lump to his throat. What the fuck was wrong with him?

"Eat, Sam." Dean was ordering.

Sam blinked himself back into reality and stared dully at the bagel laid in front of him, as he massaged the bridge of his nose.

"Dean. I'm _really_ not hungry." He mumbled, pleadingly.

Dean sighed and ran a weary hand through his hair. His eyes were dark, glassy and bloodshot.

"I know." He said softly. "But you can't have those on an empty stomach."

Sam followed his brother's nod and saw two white pills next to his plate.

"What are those?" He asked warily.

Dean's insecure silence prompted Sam to search his big brother's gaze. Dean averted his eyes.

"Dean?" Sam pushed.

"It's Vicodin." Dean answered, his voice low.

Sam frowned, while Dean chewed on his bottom lip, clearly hating the situation as much as his little brother did. Sam tried to remember the exact events of the previous day. The Furies had got him; that much he knew. He also knew that Dean and Bobby had dosed him with morphine, because the pain had been overwhelming. After that, the facts got fuzzier. The only thing he remembered clearly was that Dean had come back to the room very agitated and had dragged him out of Bobby's house.

"What happened?" Sam asked quietly. "You talked to them… What did they say?"

The look that Dean returned to him made Sam's insides grow cold. The older man seemed scarily close to his breaking point and that terrified Sam, because it wasn't something his brother showed very often.

"If I tell you… Will you eat?" Dean tried.

For once, Dean wasn't trying to stall talking. It rather seemed that having Sam eat was his top priority, and Dean wasn't strong enough to focus on anything else. Sam didn't have the heart to refuse again, although he seriously doubted he could keep anything down. As he picked at his bagel, Dean offered him a brief recount of what he had learned from the Furies. Sam knew that his brother was probably editing the most sensitive parts, but it all made sense when Dean finished talking. It explained why long-buried memories were coming back to haunt Sam, and it also explained the gnawing sensation of dark despair that teased at the corners of his awareness, every time the younger Winchester let his guard down. They had said it would hurt worse the harder Sam resisted. Feeling sick to his stomach, Sam thumbed his temples as he eyed the Vicodin.

"I think I dreamed of Jessica." Sam mumbled.

He didn't tell Dean that he had also seen her while he was awake, just as he had never told him years ago. Still, Sam had felt an impulsive need to open up a little, just because. He raised vulnerable eyes to Dean, who didn't seem surprised at all.

"I know." Dean said, returning Sam's gaze sympathetically.

Sam looked down, slightly flushed. Of course Dean knew; he hadn't peeled himself from Sam's side all night, and Sam was likely to have shouted his dead girlfriend's name more than once.

"I don't want to be sedated." Sam shook his head decidedly. "I need to be able to fight this, Dean."

"The pills are supposed to help you fight it, Sam." Dean said wearily.

"I don't need them." Sam refused stubbornly.

"No?" Dean challenged him, his eyes flaring. "Then tell me your head isn't killing you right now."

Sam let his hands fall from his head immediately, unable to keep a betrayed expression from twisting his features.

"Don't you look at me like that, damnit." Dean growled, and started to pace the room like a caged animal. "After all this… you don't get to look at me like that."

Sam clenched his jaw, chin trembling slightly. Vicodin would keep him from hurting, alright. But it would also make him loopy and render him unable to help. And Sam _needed_ to help.

"Only one." He bargained. "I don't want to be out of it, Dean."

Vicodin wouldn't be as bad as morphine but the experience wouldn't be pleasant. Sam needed to keep his head straight if he wanted to fight the Furies' spell. He had to have some control over his senses, so that he wouldn't break down if Jessica appeared again. At least, Sam had an advantage that the others hadn't had: he knew what he was up against and he wasn't going to let it get to him.

"Only one." Dean accepted. "_And_ finish the bagel."

A little brother knew when something was worth fighting for, and this wasn't the case, so he concentrated his efforts on swallowing his breakfast without throwing it up.

"Bobby called earlier." Dean commented hesitantly, as Sam ate. "He…he wanted to know how you are doing."

His brother had told Sam about Bobby and how their old friend's touch had ignited the Furies attack. However, it was a part of the story Sam had refused to dwell on, and the younger simply nodded in silent acknowledgement, as Dean nervously fingered a loose thread of his jeans.

"That's why you asked me if it got worse when you touched me, right?" Sam asked.

Dean didn't look at him in the eye, but his shoulders tensed.

"It doesn't, does it?" The older questioned, sounding unsure all of a sudden.

"No, it doesn't." Sam said evenly. "I wouldn't lie to you about that."

Dean nodded slowly, still avoiding Sam's eyes.

"I'm sorry I brought you here, Sammy." He said out of the blue. "I didn't know this would happen. I didn't even know that you two…you should have told me if things were that bad between you."

There was a profound air of defeat on Sam's brother's face, his eyes dulled by a kind of exhaustion that went beyond sleepless nights. The shadows behind Dean's voice tugged at Sam's chest, and the younger wondered not for the first time if Dean was only holding it together for Sam, as a façade. It was shaky ground: if Dean broke down now, Sam would shatter into pieces so small a puff of wind would suffice in blowing him away.

"Don't do that." Sam pleaded, as he ducked his head to trap Dean's gaze with his. "It's not Bobby's fault. And it's not _your_ fault."

_It's your fault, Sam. It was always your fault…_

Sam gulped a shaky sip of water as he silently struggled to block the teasing inside his head. He looked at the pill again, his gaze full of apprehension, and then back at Dean in time to see him rubbing his eyes. For a second there, it almost seemed that Dean was going to start crying, but his older brother quickly rebuilt his walls.

"Bobby also said he found Angela Charisteas." Dean added, clearing his throat. "I was thinking about going to talk to her. If she was the one who cast the Furies, maybe she can call them back too."

"I'll get ready." Sam said.

Dean frowned at him and crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive gesture.

"You're not coming." He said matter-of-factly.

"Like Hell I'm not." Sam retorted, arching an eyebrow.

"Sam." Dean gritted. "You're going to finish your bagel, you're going to take that damn pill and you're going to sleep. I'll handle this."

"Not a chance in hell." Sam protested stubbornly.

Visions of Dean flooded Sam's brain mercilessly, memories of all the times Dean had jumped in front of danger for him, had got hurt for him. How many more people had to suffer in Sam's name? How many more would die for nothing?

_Why Sam?_

The younger gasped when a pair or shiny blue eyes danced in his field of vision and he shut his eyes tight. Those eyes were different from Jess', but extraordinarily beautiful too. Were those his mother's eyes?

The next thing Sam knew the bagel had made an unwelcome reappearance into the porcelain toilet.

"You're not coming." Dean repeated, as he appeared by his side with a glass of fresh water.

Sam flushed the toilet, accepted the glass and rinsed. "Watch me." He said stubbornly.

The punch Dean threw to the wall over his little brother's head startled Sam, and he looked up. Dean was facing the tiled wall, his eyes closed, but Sam could see he was shaking even from his position.

"Fuck you, Sam." Dean croaked. "I swear if I could right now I…"

As his brother trailed off, Sam swallowed and studied Dean. The older Winchester was truly at the end of his rope, emotionally totaled. And Sam certainly wasn't making it easier for him.

"You need to get some sleep, man" Sam whispered.

Dean snorted mirthlessly.

"I won't go anywhere, I swear." Sam promised. "Just rest your eyes a couple of hours I mean it. Hell... cuff me to the bed if it makes you feel better, but You. Need. To. Sleep."

Dean laughed and even seemed to consider it, which said a lot, but finally he shook his head.

"We don't have time to waste."

He looked down to Sam, all previous shades of frustration turning to frightened warmth.

"Promise you'll tell me if it gets too much, Sam."

"I promise."

The nod Dean gave seemed to be physically painful, as if instead of convincing him, Sam had tried to stab him in the eye.

"I don't believe you." Dean said in a low voice. "But it's not as if we have many options, right?"

As much as it saddened Sam, he couldn't argue with that.

**oooooooooooooOoooooooooooooo**

Sam would have offered to drive if he had thought there was the slightest possibility that Dean would consider letting him, but that wasn't going to happen. His brother took the wheel, stiff but determined, without a second of hesitation. Sam could only sink into the leather seat and ride out the vague sensation of drowsiness that leaped at his nerve endings, lazy and persistent like summer waves. It was the Vicodin, he supposed, and while it was true that it had dulled the migraine, Sam felt slow and awkward. He canted his head towards Dean, wanting to support his brother as he reclaimed the driver's seat.

_He didn't choose it. You forced him to._

Always helpful, his mind. Sam winced internally and fought the pull of the drug even harder, extra aware of the turmoil of weird effects that pulled at his body and soul in separate directions. He didn't want to sleep, because that would mean leaving Dean alone. God, how many times had he done just that? Leave Dean behind?

"Angela lives in Parker, Sam, That's forty minutes away." Dean said out of the blue, without even looking at his brother, and obviously not needing too. "You can sleep for a little while. It's fine. I'll wake you when we get there."

Sam set his jaw and shook his head. By his side, Dean whispered something vaguely resembling _pigheaded little prick_ and Sam discovered himself smiling despite everything. He had missed this while they had been apart, the simple act of riding shotgun with Dean. Even now, all things considered, Sam liked it in a longing, nostalgic way. A quiet sigh escaped his lips and he let his thoughts wander a little as he watched the scenery pass. Houses, shops, cars and families…

Normal at its highest expression.

Sam remembered a time when all his longing had been aimed towards _that_ kind of life. When all he wanted was to meet a girl, create a family and live oblivious to the evil of the world. He had wanted to have two kids, the magic number, close enough in age so that they would grow together, as friends. He glanced at Dean, whose eyes where steadfastly fixed on the road, and his heart sank a little. Sam couldn't imagine a life without a brother, but it was safe to say that Dean would have been better off without him.

_It was all about you_, Azazel's voice teased. _Always about you…_

Sam's stomach clenched a little and he bit his lip, tearing his eyes from Dean and back to the window.

"Do you ever wonder? What it would have been like with Mom around?" Sam blurted.

A muscle twitched along Dean's jaw, but other than that, his face remained impassive.

"No need to. Got seats in the first row courtesy of the Djinn, remember?" He said simply.

For some reason, Dean's chevalier attitude made Sam even sadder. "No, I mean…" Sam gulped around the knot in his throat. "I mean… without me. If Mom hadn't tried to-"

"Sam." Dean interrupted him with a low-pitched growl. "How many times are we going to talk about this?"

The younger Winchester turned to Dean, exasperation going a long way towards clearing his head.

"We've _never_ talked about this. You just brush it off as if it was nothing." Sam protested bitterly.

Dean met his eyes for a brief second, and Sam felt all the heat of his brother's gaze piercing him. It scorched a hole through his chest, despite the stoic countenance Dean was visibly —and not effortlessly— displaying.

"Listen to me." Dean enunciated calmly. "Don't let them do this to you, okay?"

Sam frowned at Dean, uncomprehending.

"This is not you, Sammy." Dean insisted.

Sam's frown turned into a scowl and he straightened his shoulders against the Impala's seat, hurt that Dean wasn't listening to him. It was hard enough to try to keep his head clear, to try to make Dean _see_ that Sam would understand if he hated him. He had taken away his brother's family, his brother's _life_. Damn, _he_ would hate himself if he was in Dean's shoes.

"It's Sam." He countered. "And fuck you. This is all me."

"No." Dean shook his head again, exasperatingly calm again. "This is the Furies talking."

The younger Winchester's chin trembled. Sam had to admit that his emotions were suspiciously raw, if he couldn't take Dean's condescension without wanting to cry.

"Why is it so hard for you to say it?" Sam grunted. "That I screwed up your life? That none of this would have happened if I had died instead of her?"

"Sam, stop it!" Dean growled.

"I can't. It's my responsibility and maybe you can deny it but I-"

"This is not taking responsibility. This is a pity party." Dean pointed out, shooting a meaningful look at his brother. "And _that_ is not like you. That's the kind of thing you have to fight, Sam."

Dean's words filtered slowly into Sam's brain and the young man felt something ringing inside of him, like an alarm. But it didn't make any sense; he wasn't hearing any voices or seeing things that weren't there. They were _his_ thoughts, always had been. However, the intense feeling of dejection, the despair…Those emotions had overwhelmed him suddenly, catching him unprepared, and he had let them swallow him. Shaking his head, he tried to block the gloomy thoughts and his head responded with a throb even through the cottony padding provided by drugs.

"Ugh." He gasped, bending forwards a little.

"You alright?" Dean asked quickly, his tone of voice worried.

"Yeah." Sam muttered, scrunching his forehead. "Sorry."

Still, Dean kept an eye on Sam as he drove, concern leaking through the cracks now that he didn't have to keep such a tight control of himself not to snap at his little brother. He seemed hesitant; maybe he wanted to offer to Sam to pull over, or maybe he was finally considering that Sam was right and he should have died 26 years ago. The younger sibling leaned his head back against the bench and breathed evenly, as he let his eyes fall closed and waited for the other shoe to drop.

"I don't blame you for any of that. Mom, less than anything. You know that, right?" Dean said quietly.

And Sam surprised himself by chuckling.

"I know you don't." He said, fondly and miserably in same proportion as he met Dean's eyes. "It didn't hurt when you got close, remember?"

Dean winced a little.

"Sam, whatever Bobby may have told you, he doesn't-" He started uncomfortably. "I know he wouldn't-"

Dean let the sentence fall with an awkward click of his tongue. He was struggling with words, which only happened to him when he was torn over something. Always the pacifier, Dean kept trying to understand the rift between Bobby and Sam with very little to go. Sam wasn't sure of what kind of theories Dean had come up with in the last few months, but his words were also an open invitation: Dean would side with Sam no matter what. Only, Sam didn't want him to. As many times as he had asked Dean to do exactly that in the past, it was the one thing Sam wouldn't do again.

"It's okay, I told you it's not Bobby's fault." He dismissed.

Dean's throat worked up and down, eyes shiny while they scanned the signs on the road. The wheels inside the older hunter's brain were turning again. Maybe he was thinking about his little brother crumpling in agony the second that the only other person Dean believed trustworthy had approached him. It wasn't fair for Bobby or Dean. Sam had broken too many things throughout the years, and couldn't stand the idea of Dean feeling like he was totally alone.

"Bobby loves you." Sam said.

The words were out before he could exercise any kind of mushiness-filter. Dean blinked, his face going blank as it usually did when something caught him off guard and he needed to hide a second behind his patented poker face to evaluate the situation.

"Okay…" He finally glanced at Sam with an amused smile that clearly conveyed how much of a little _sister_ he saw in Sam at that moment. Then, after a beat, and with the same kind of pained wince he would have pulled if he was being physically emasculated, he added. "He loves you too, you know?"

Sam sighed and nodded, without hesitation.

"Yeah…yeah I know." Sam paused and looked down. "It's got nothing to do with love."

"Then what is it between you two?" Dean questioned.

Sam didn't know how to answer that. _Trust _was the first word that had come to his mind and he couldn't help but remember Bobby's words the previous day.

"_You just don't trust me. You don't trust me with him."_

"I guess..." Sam struggled to formulate his thoughts. "We got to this point where we had to test each other's limits and…" Sam's lips twitched humorlessly as his voice fell to a whisper. "We didn't like what we found".

Dean looked him over for a long moment before focusing back on the road with a pensive frown. Sam's answer seemed to have confused Dean even more.

"I guess I uh-… I think I wanted him to be Dad." Sam added, almost as an involuntary afterthought. "But he's not."

Those words released an emotion Sam hadn't known he felt until it came out and seized his heart almost on its own accord. He realized that, even if it was the first time he said it aloud, it was _that _absence and _that_ disappointment that had hurt him the most. Not so long ago, he had yelled at Bobby that Dean wasn't his son, and Sam had done it to hurt the seasoned hunter. To punish him, because their father would have stopped at nothing to save his firstborn and, God help him, he had needed _John_.

"No, he's not." Dean agreed with absolute certainty.

The familiar sorrow of John's loss was back on his face. Sam swallowed and wished he could say something to erase what he had just confessed.

"I miss him too." The older whispered.

Sam stared at him, baffled at the sudden revelation. It wasn't that Dean lied to him often, actually he barely did, but he was used to masking his true feelings and Sam was used to reading between lines. Dean met his eyes a brief second and flashed him a shy smile. As understanding passed between them easily, Sam's knotted stomach loosened a little and the younger Winchester chose, for once, to leave things as they were.

**oooooooooooooOoooooooooooooo**

By the time they arrived to Angela's house, Sam's brain felt like a bowl of thick soup: warm, slow and liquid. He almost smiled at his own analogy, but if his brain was soup, his thoughts were certainly noodles. That is thin, slippery and floaty. He regretted having taken the Vicodin, but it had been the only way to appease Dean's concern for the time being. Besides, as uncomfortable and scary as the sensation was, it _was_ helping. The killer headache had receded, forcefully buried under the cotton-wool sensation of the narcotic.

He wouldn't even have realized that the car had stopped if the sudden stillness hadn't short-circuited with the swimming sensation inside his gut, making him slightly nauseous in its attempt to overcompensate for it.

"Sammy?"

Swallowing, Sam lazily rolled his head towards Dean, who was staring at him with a weird expression. The younger suspected that it wasn't the first time Dean had tried to get his attention. And how long had they been stopped again?

"Dude." Dean's lips curved on the edge and his eyes softened in a way that made Sam smile too. In turn, Dean grinned and remarked, "You really are stoned."

Sam grimaced and rolled his shoulders to stretch his back.

"Maybe you should stay in the car while I talk to Angela." Dean thought aloud, absently straightening the hem of Sam's shirt.

Sam mentally slapped himself as he physically slapped Dean's hand and huffed a head-clearing breath.

"I'm good. Just need some air, I'm good." Sam slurred.

Dean studied him uncertainly, but as he wasn't crazy about leaving Sam alone in the car, his little brother knew that Dean would eventually cave.

"You tell me if you need to leave. I'm serious, Sammy." Dean said sternly.

Sam nodded as he made a mental note to do exactly the contrary. He had insisted on going with his brother and the last thing he intended to do was blow the interrogation. Dean steered him out of the car with a steadying hand on the back of Sam's elbow that the younger didn't shrug off. The change of position in altitude made Sam stagger a little, but moving under his own steam roused some of the brain connections that had been lulled by the warmth inside the Impala.

"Angela Charisteas?"

Sam's attention followed Dean's voice, and he realized that his brother was talking to a dark-haired middle-aged woman that had appeared on the doorstep. Funny, he didn't remember Dean knocking or ringing the bell.

Damn it, he _was_ stoned.

"Yes, and you are?" The woman retorted.

The harshness in her voice reached Sam despite the hazy quality of the world around him. Angela was petite and her eyes were dark, gleaming like jet stones on her olive skin. She must have been really beautiful when she was young, still would be if it wasn't for the hard line her pale lips drew, and the tightness around her eyes. The wrinkles lining her face didn't seem to have anything to do with laughter. Judging by the icy look she pinned them with, she wasn't used to have many visitors.

"My name is Dean; this is my brother, Sam." Dean answered neutrally, probably picking up on the woman's animosity and adapting his demeanor to it. "We are investigating some cold cases in the area and we need to talk to you."

Sam blinked at Dean, silently wondering at the fact that his big brother had gone for honesty. He couldn't be sure whether it was due to lack of preparation, hurry or maybe because Angela's wariness had clued him into the fact that no fabrication would succeed past her suspicious defensive front.

"I can't help you." The woman barked.

She was ready to close the door on their faces, but Dean planted a firm hand on it and stopped her.

"I'm afraid I must insist." Dean said huskily.

Startled by his brother's hard, almost aggressive move, Sam shot him a questioning look. Dean didn't meet his eyes though, not even in a sideways glance. All his focus was on Angela; the veiled threat in his voice didn't escape Sam and could hardly have escaped her.

"What do you think you're doing?" Angela squeaked.

_Saving me,_ Sam realized.

Angela might have the key to save Sam and that was enough of a reason for Dean to do whatever he had to in order to obtain answers. Sam's skin pricked as adrenaline fought numbness inside his cells. The younger man brushed a discreet hand across Dean's arm. Restraining or questioning, the gesture didn't seem to matter, because Dean didn't acknowledge it.

"Angela, please." Dean said, his voice deep and intent. "We really need to talk to you."

"About what?" She asked, tentatively pushing the door only to find that Dean wasn't budging. "If you don't go right now, I'll call the-"

"About what happened to you twenty years ago." Dean interrupted. "And if I'm not mistaken, the police weren't of much help then either."

Angela's eyes widened and she froze. Literally, Sam could have sworn he felt the cold emanating from her and it made him shiver. His discomfort caught Dean's attention and the younger hunter felt rather than saw how part of Dean's focus returned to him, even as he held the woman's gaze unwaveringly.

Sam had no doubt about who would break first.

Finally, Angela looked down and stepped back from the door, wordlessly going back into the house. There was no "come in" or "follow me." They hadn't really been invited, but Dean took the woman's surrender as permission, because at this point he couldn't be bothered. A brief glance at Sam reassured him that his little brother was still with him and he nudged Sam to advance.

The house wasn't very big. As a matter of fact, it was rather modest, devoid of decorations or mementos. The only thing that stood out was the number of bookcases full of volumes of worn, faded tomes. The house wasn't dirty, but some degree of dusty negligence showed here and there. In a way, Angela and her house were similar: both spoke of solitude and bitterness. There was a ratty couch and some chairs too, but Sam ignored the pointed look Dean gave him to suggest he should sit down.

"What's wrong with him?" Angela asked dispassionately, narrowing her eyes on Sam.

The younger Winchester looked away, uncomfortably. Okay, he wasn't at the top of his game, but he was honest-to-God making an effort to at least appear fine.

"Don't worry about him." Dean redirected the woman's attention easily, stepping forwards so that he was subtly placed himself between Angela and Sam.

Sam recognized the familiar movement and stepped closer behind his brother. It may be a lost cause to try and convince Dean against placing himself between Sam and danger on a regular basis, but Sam also knew that the elder liked to feel Sam at his back.

"Madam?" Sam intervened. "We just need to ask you a few questions. Then we'll go."

Apparently, she hadn't expected him to speak, because she seemed marginally surprised to hear him. However, his appeasing tone made the woman's shoulders relax an inch. Dean used to call that gift of Sam's "the puppy-dog's look", and it had got them out of trouble more than once.

"What kind of questions?" She muttered, as she lit a cigarette and took a long, nervous drag.

She was keeping herself at a safe distance from the two brothers. Dean glanced at Sam over his shoulder, then took a couple of steps as he observed the room. To anyone else's eyes, Dean would have seem absent, even distracted, but Sam knew that Dean was analyzing the room with a hunter's clinical eye. Sam had done his own sweep already and could actually remember several titles of the books in the main bookcase. He noticed it when his brother's eyes flickered over one of the oldest ones, whose titles were in Greek. They looked at each other briefly and Dean returned his attention to Angela.

"Twenty years ago, you were attacked in Sioux Falls when you were going back from the hospital you worked in." Dean said.

Angela flinched, her face tightening, but not a single sound went past her pursed lips.

"You were mugged, and left seriously hurt by the side of the road. The police never caught the man who did it."

"How do you know all that?" She whispered, pale as a wax doll.

"It's on the police file." Dean revealed with a shrug. "But we need to know more. We need to know what really happened."

"Why? What does it have to do with anything?" She hissed.

Sam had to look down, because the woman's long buried pain was as sharp and acidic as the poisonous bite of a snake.

"It has to do with a lot. Because we believe that what happened then is killing people now." Dean pushed, unaffected.

Angela frowned at Dean, disbelief flickering in the depths of her black eyes. But something else had crossed her expression, Sam was sure of it. When she brought the butt of her cigarette to her lips, her hands _shook_. Which was a nervous tell that made Sam's heart skip a beat. She knew something. Dean's hands twitched, insinuating a fist.

"What the heck are you talking about?" She asked, without looking at them. "That's impossible."

"No, if you know what to do it isn't." Dean replied, his tone hard.

"It's been twenty years." Angela hissed. "I want you out of here now."

"Not until you answer my questions."

"Dean." Sam chimed in softly, aware that his brother's protective streak was toying with his edge of belligerence.

Dean ignored him altogether, and stepped closer to Angela.

"_What_ questions!" She cried. "Do you want to know what happened that night? How he didn't _rob_ me? How he jumped me, and beat me and opened me and _raped_ me over and over while he kept his hand over my mouth and I couldn't scream or breathe? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

_My God._

Sam's throat constricted and he felt his stomach burn with repressed bile. The imagery and Angela's enraged pain alone would have thrown any human being off balance, but it seemed to hit the younger Winchester even harder. He stepped back, blindly catching himself on the back of a chair while his head buzzed. It felt as if dozens of voices fought for control inside his head: all of them screaming their hurt at the same time. Sam tried to breathe through them and shut them out, but his efforts were rewarded with more pain. The only reason that the violent pounding inside his skull didn't bend him in half was the drugs still coursing through his system. They dulled everything but Sam's horror at Angela's words.

Dean's shoulders had adopted a tight line as tension radiated off him. His brother wasn't made of stone, and he had always been repulsed by that kind of violence and abuse against women. Sam didn't envy the struggle that must be taking place inside of him, torn between compassion and the need to force answers from the woman, from the _victim_, in order to help his little brother. The younger closed his eyes briefly, savoring the bitter certainty of knowing what path Dean would inexorably take.

"That isn't what the report said." Dean said with a rough voice.

Angela's eyes flared as they returned to Dean with such hatred it almost made the air in the room crackle.

"The report lied. It's all lies." She spat. "The police didn't listen, wouldn't lift a finger for a nurse that barely managed to make ends meet. Not against their golden boy, no, of course _not_. They didn't want to believe, or if they did, they couldn't have cared less."

"You know who attacked you?" Sam whispered around the tautness of his throat.

"Everybody knew." Angela growled venomously, sliding knife-sharp eyes to Sam. He flinched under the woman's gaze. "And everybody kept their mouth closed."

"That's why you cursed the town." Dean seethed, quickly claiming Angela's attention again. "Because you wanted revenge?"

Angela looked at Dean, her eyebrows arched, and Sam almost hoped that she would make _the_ face. The _Are you totally nuts?_ face that normal people gave them when they heard words like "curse" spoken seriously. It always stung, like being called a freak. But it also meant that the people they were talking to didn't know anything; that they were innocent in the ways that mattered and the siblings had done a good job of keeping them safe.

"I didn't curse the town." Angela said slowly, eyes narrowing to mere slits. "I cursed him. _Him_. Eric J. Martin Jr." The way she said that name was almost a curse in itself. "He was rich, and loved, and innocent in everyone's eyes…but I wished him pain, I wished on him all the suffering I had had to endure. I wished for his _death_!"

"You unleashed them." Dean said, shaking his head. "Do you have any idea of what you've-?"

"It didn't work." She cried in denial. "He kept living a happy life, successful and proud and arrogant and I… I had to stay here, I had to…"

"It _did_ work, Angela." Dean raised his voice over hers. "Seven people are dead because of your revenge!"

"You're lying!" She spat.

"Then tell me you don't know what Furies are." Dean challenged in an ice-cold tone.

Angela's eyes widened as she backed away, her lips trembling.

"That's impossible." She murmured.

"What did you do, Angela? Chant to the moon; bury a _katadesmos_; sacrifice a frigging bull? We need to know!" Dean yelled.

"It…it was supposed to be me." She continued, ignoring Dean.

Sam sucked in a breath as understanding slowly sank in: Angela hadn't tried to throw the avenging angels at her abuser. She had wanted to be the avenger herself. She was so full of pain and hate that she had tried to become her aggressors' judge and executioner. Humans abusing humans. Humans killing humans. As much as Sam tried, sometimes it was hard not to lose his faith in people. With all the evil in the world, why did they keep adding their own rage to the mix, day after day, lost life after lost life?

"Yeah, well." Dean growled. "There is something you need to know about curses. They rarely go the way you planned."

Angela seemed baffled. Fury leaked out of her face, her skin pale and clammy around her feverish eyes. At that moment, she looked lost and as vulnerable as the girl she was before resentment chiseled at her spirit. Despite himself, Sam felt his heart softening for her. What she had been through, being attacked like that and then having everybody turning their backs on her and shielding her rapist instead was horrible. She hadn't wanted to hurt James, Elena, Janine or Phoebe; she wasn't trying to hurt _him_. The only thing that Angela Charisteas had sought was justice, as twisted as her ways were, and that was something Sam and his family could relate to.

"Dean." Sam called softly. The elder spared him an appraising glance. "I don't get it; if the town isn't cursed, why are Alec and the others picking victims so randomly? It doesn't make sense, unless…"

"Unless they can't find him." Dean completed his thought with a light nod. "It's Eric they are looking for."

Angela let out a wet laugh and then another one. Soon, she was laughing hysterically, shaking so hard she seemed to be about to break like a dry branch under a heavy boot. The sound made Sam sick to his stomach; even Dean seemed disgusted. The woman was tragically crazy.

"Uncast them." Dean muttered gravely. "I'm sorry about what happened to you, but this has to stop."

The woman looked at him with moist, wild eyes, and held Dean's gaze for the longest of seconds.

"No." She refused.

And just like that, Sam found himself at a total loss for words.

"What do you mean 'no'" Dean retorted with a growl of his own. "Didn't you hear me? Innocent people are dying."

"Not so innocent." She replied with a steely glint in her eye. "If the Venerable Goddesses are after them, they must have a reason."

Sam gulped as the long fingers of the curse crept around his heart and squeezed it once more. As in tune, Angela narrowed his dark eyes on him.

"_Semnai Theai_ saw through you too, didn't they?" She whispered.

The younger Winchester gasped and stumbled as he stepped back.

"Son of a… you leave him the fuck alone!" Dean charged.

Before Sam could react, Dean had the woman pinned against the wall, forcing her to avert her eyes from his little brother. The older Winchester lips were twisted in a brutal snarl. And Angela…Angela was giggling.

"Whatever you did, _undo_ it." Dean repeated, a threat evident in his tone.

"It can't be undone." She said smugly, not looking impressed at all at the formidable strength of the hunter that immobilized her. "And even if it could, I wouldn't. Not after what they did to me."

"You're crazy." Dean seethed back. "Those people did nothing to you. My brother did _nothing_ to you!"

Angela's eyes slid back to Sam maliciously.

"Apparently, he deserves it anyway."

Dean's eyes shone beyond dangerously and he shoved the woman hard against the wall. With barely a flicker of his wrist, a gun appeared in his hand and he pressed the barrel against Angela's throat.

"Dean!" Sam exclaimed.

His older brother didn't seem to hear him. "You cast them back." Dean ordered. "Do it or I'll-"

"Kill me?" She dared him. "See? You're just a monster like the rest of them."

"And whatare _you_?" Dean yelled. "You cruel, sadistic bitch, you're right: I'll kill you if I fucking have to."

"DEAN!" Sam yelled at him, physically fighting for his brother's attention as he grabbed Dean's arm. "Let her go." It was a much softer order than Dean's command to Angela, but just as firm. "She's human, Dean."

"No, she's _not_." Dean argued back, without moving a single muscle.

Sam could feel his brother's body quavering under his hand, tremors fusing with his own weak attempts to keep himself upright.

"Please…" Sam begged.

Sam's head pounded and his sight blurred when he stubbornly refused to close his eyes. He tightened his grip on Dean's arm, trying unconsciously to regain his balance and anchor his brother's emotional stability. It wasn't the first time he had seen Dean like this: tail spinning into a turmoil of rage, fear and pure instinct. It always terrified Sam to witness his larger than life brother walk the edge of darkness, furious and hurt. _Unleashed_. And yet, it didn't happen as often as other people seemed to think. Even in Dean's most reckless head-on charges against the things that threatened their lives, Dean was never chaotic. He was a painfully tight controlled bomb; a deadly force of nature that didn't lose his focus no matter what, even in the direst kill or be killed situations.

It was bad when Dean lost control. John's death had almost done Dean in, but when Sam was in danger it was even worse. When faced with a choice between having to kill or having _Sam _killed, Dean would always choose the former.

_How many lives, Sam?_

Sam blinked unfocused eyes in an attempt to regain control of his surroundings and tilted against his brother tense but warm frame. Dean didn't seem to notice that his little brother's weight increased against his back. He simply kept the gun against Angela's throat as she giggled, eyes wide and round under her sweaty brow. She may think Dean was bluffing; Sam knew he was not.

_How many lives are on you?_

"Dean..." Sam mustered in a strained voice.

_Murderer_

"Not for me. Please not for me." Sam begged.

The world grayed at the edges and Sam's stomach constricted into a rolling ball of lead. The idea of Angela dying for him was unfathomable; the weight of such a responsibility, suffocating him. He wasn't worth it. Not for Angela's life. Not for his Mom's.

_Jess._

Sam wouldn't have realized that he was falling if Dean hadn't brusquely moved to catch him. His brother was holding him with both hands, and Sam wondered vaguely about the gun, about Angela... He wondered why he was still alive when so many others had fallen and why he hadn't put an end to everybody's misery already.

"Sam? Sammy. Hey" Dean was saying urgently. "Talk to me, man, what's wrong?"

_I am. I am. I am_

"Sam!"

Dean shook him hard and Sam raised his hands instinctively to grip his brother's forearms. His head felt like it was splitting in two, and the noise drowned all the air in the room.

"Don't hurt her." Sam heard himself choking out. "Dean, I can't...I-."

"Shhh. It's okay, Sammy. She's fine."

Dean's voice was gentle but the underlying concern and regret shone through in every word. Sam hung onto the sound of his family like it was a lifeline. Opening his eyes was a challenge and he blinked several times, before realizing that his eyes were embarrassingly wet.

"We're out of here, okay? We'll find another way, I promise." Dean whispered comfortingly.

Sam nodded numbly, feeling silly, weak, and so damn grateful. Dean shifted his hands, taking Sam carefully by the elbows, and shooting Angela an incendiary look.

"Look at him, Angela. Look at this 'monster'" Dean spat. "Because he just saved your life."

The woman's expression was one of complete puzzlement, but Sam couldn't bring himself to confront her as Dean had. She was crazy, that was clear, but that didn't mean that she wasn't right about him.

"It can't be undone." She said again, this time slightly more subdued. "Once they are cast, they won't stop until they get their prey."

She sounded honest, but Dean didn't do so much as frown. "Then I'll have to find him." He concluded without hesitation.

Sam slid his eyes to him in alarm. _Find him and then what?_ However, Angela didn't give Sam the chance to worry about that. Her eyes sharpened and her voice turned icy cold.

"Good luck with that. Eric J. Martin Jr. died five years ago."

* * *

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Here we go again. Thanks Megan!**

* * *

_**Unleashed Fury**_

**IX**

Dean felt like shit. The aftermath of his outburst at Angela's had left him shaky and slightly nauseous, but Sam's pained reaction had been like a punch to the gut. Dean's uncontrolled rage had been close to breaking his brother worse than anything else had. Sam was struggling with an inhuman amount of guilt and Dean should have known that lashing out against Angela would be like a bomb to Sam's already fragile defenses.

"Vicodin wore off?" Dean asked softly, sparing a glance at the passenger seat where Sam was curled over himself.

Sam shrugged ―or maybe he just shuddered― inconclusively. He was trembling, although the heater was cranked up so it was uncomfortably hot, and his lips shook around silent words that didn't reach his big brother's ears. Dean winced at the white-knuckled pressure Sam kept over his temples and unconsciously pressed the accelerator.

"Sammy?" Dean insisted worriedly.

"Shut up…" Sam breathed. "Please."

Dean closed his mouth with a snap and swallowed hard. Definitely, his well-intentioned words weren't helping Sam, only piling up with the noise enough inside his brother's head. At a loss, Dean ghosted a hand over Sam's rigid knee and, after a moment of hesitation, let it rest warmly over the twitching muscle. Sam opened glazed eyes and stared at Dean's hand for a few seconds, before fixing Dean a forlorn look.

"It had to be done, right?" Sam asked, his voice weak and young.

Dean was confused by Sam's cryptic question, but the note of raw despair in the younger's voice told him that the answer was important for Sam.

"What?" Dean questioned.

"Maddy… there was no other way to help her, was there?" Sam clarified, his words breaking along the edges. "We looked everywhere… I didn't want to kill her, but it had to be done…"

Dean cringed internally as soon as he realized that Sam was referring to Madison. He had never known that Sam had called her Maddy, and somehow it made Dean feel even more depressed.

"It had to be done." The older confirmed calmly, punctuating his words with a squeeze to Sam's knee. "You know that."

"But she was innocent." The younger countered. "And I killed her."

"She wasn't human anymore." Dean argued. "You _saved_ her."

Sam bit his lip, unsure. He was rocking very slightly, as if was trying to draw comfort from the movement. Dean wouldn't even have noticed if he hadn't been hanging onto Sam, but it prompted him to squeeze Sam's knee again.

"I didn't want to kill her. I didn't want to… I'm sorry." Sam muttered. "I'm so sorry."

"You did what you had to do." Dean insisted, a diffused feeling of apprehension taking hold of his stomach,

"She'd dead._ Dead_, Dean!" It was Sam's turn to insist, aggravated by the fact that Dean didn't seem to understand. Then, more subdued, he added as an afterthought. "How is that that was what had to be done if I'm still here?"

Dean felt it before Sam moved, something in his little brother gaze making Dean's skin crawl. Then, without warning, Sam grabbed the passenger side's door handle, and tried to throw himself into the road.

"Fuck!" Dean exclaimed, as his heart jolted inside his throat.

His right hand flew towards Sam so fast he didn't even felt it moving, until his fingers closed around the fabric of Sam's sleeve. In extremis, Dean brought the Impala to an abrupt halt by the side of the solitary road.

"Goddammit, Sam!" He shouted. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Sam didn't seem to hear him, and kept fighting Dean to get loose. Apparently, the younger Winchester hadn't realized that they had stopped.

"Let me go!" Sam pleaded. "Dean!"

Dean clenched his teeth around a suffocating yell of frustration, as he struggled to breathe. He let go of Sam, and the latter fell out of the car with a choked grunt. Sam crawled a few feet along the gravel, and at first Dean could only stare at him through the moist collecting in his eyes. Dean's heart was pounding so hard his whole body twitched. He clenched a fist against his mouth, because he feared that if he opened his lips, Furies influence or not, he would tear his brother a new one and then regret it later. Yet, his big brother's instincts didn't allow Dean to remain frozen long, especially having Sam so close and so obviously broken. The elder inched his way toward the passenger door on numb arms and legs. He knew by the switch in the flip-flopping sensation inside his belly that he had reached an intermediate point where terror wouldn't come out as anger —which Sam didn't deserve— or hysteria, which Sam certainly didn't need.

"C'mere." He whispered, as soon as Sam was within arm's reach.

The younger didn't respond, but he didn't resist either as Dean grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to his chest.

"Damn, you're freezing." Dean said, his voice trembling as if there was a sob hiding behind every syllable.

Sam's lean, muscular body felt incredibly small in his arms, and Dean had the sensation that his little brother would vanish if he squeezed him too hard.

"Do you want to give me a heart-attack?" He asked with forced levity. "I didn't know you wanted to leave the car so badly." Sam snorted a faint laugh against Dean's shoulder and the elder's lips pulled up. "You with me, bitch?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded almost imperceptibly, gripping his brother's biceps as if Dean was the last frontier between solid ground and the abyss.

"I'm sorry." Sam murmured.

"It's not your fault." Dean whispered, tightening his embrace and shaking his head close to Sam's ear. "You need to believe me."

"I…" The younger hesitated, his eyes hidden from Dean's gaze under his long bangs. "I wish I could."

Unfair as it was, Dean was hurt that his words weren't a magic balm anymore, because words were all he had to offer. It was his faith in Sam against all the hatred of the underworld that was eating at his little brother's mind.

"They're all here." Sam murmured, shaking his head drunkenly inside Dean's hold.

The older shifted his chin to let Sam burrow himself in the crook of his neck. His little brother hadn't stopped trembling and his pulse was sluggish under Dean's strategically placed fingertips. His blood-pressure was bottoming out, which probably was a common after-effect of the drugs. Since it was too soon to dose him again and Dean hated to take chances with his brother, he just pulled Sam closer, willing the shivers away.

"All of them… All the people I've killed. They're everywhere I look." Sam continued miserably.

"They're not real, Sammy." Dean interjected firmly.

"Yes they _are_, Dean." Sam protested. "None of it is a lie: they are all dead because of me and they deserve their revenge. I'm their revenge."

"No, Sam, you're _my_ brother." Dean said fiercely. "And they're not having you."

Sam let out another snort, this time wearier. He was getting increasingly heavy against Dean.

"I'm sorry." Sam repeated, his voice barely a breath against his big brother's skin.

"So you keep saying." Dean shook his head. "But what are you so sorry for?"

Sam sucked in a breath and slowly untangled himself from Dean.

"Because I feel like I'm going to leave you again."

**ooooooooooo0oooooooooooo**

Dean didn't let Sam out of his sight during the rest of the day, too shaken by Sam's ominous words to even think of leaving the room to go get food. Hours passed by in a blur of fruitless research. Sam was curled miserably in his bed, muttering feverishly and clutching at his head as if it was about to roll off his shoulders. He was making a valiant effort and hadn't complained once since Dean had hauled him back to the room. It didn't make it easier for the older Winchester, who was too tuned to Sam to learn how to ignore his suffering, but he guessed that the least he could do was honoring Sam's stoic countenance by plunging himself into research.

The afternoon rolled into evening and when Dean raised his eyes from the page, sunset lit up the horizon. Sam had quieted down and the silence in the room was deafening. Dean rubbed his eyelids wearily and swallowed down the persistent urge to cry that had settled permanently inside his throat. Exhaustion was starting to become a solid weight on his shoulders. Dean couldn't even remember the last time he had gotten some sleep. Did unconsciousness count?

In any case, Dean's thoughts were getting murky and he knew by experience that his mind would only go downhill from that point on. He was out of ideas and steam and almost didn't dare to look at Sam, not wanting to see the disappointment on his brother's face. But Sam was the only thing that made sense in the darkness, he always had been. Dean warily glanced at him, and was surprised to find his little brother staring back, his eyes bright despite the dim light. There was no disappointment in Sam's gaze, only a shade of serene sadness that twisted Dean's insides.

"Hey." Dean breathed out. "How are you feeling?"

Sam gave him the hint of a smile. "Doesn't hurt so badly now."

Dean felt his chin tremble and he clenched his jaw hard to keep his distress in. No pain was good. But, according to the Furies, the absence of pain also meant that Sam wasn't fighting anymore. And if that happened, it would be the end of them both. The older Winchester exhaled, blinking back the sting in his bloodshot eyes. He wanted to rebel against the inexorable course of the Furies' curse, but his determination was leaking through his fingers like dry sand.

"I've got nothing, Sam." Dean admitted, his words blunt and honest as his stubborn optimism hardly ever let him be.

Sam didn't seem fazed by his brother's confession. On the contrary, his expression softened and he smiled at Dean again.

"It's okay. It's gonna be okay."

Sam spoke with the quiet, sad acceptance that Dean had hoped to see in him during the previous year, when the countdown ruling their existences had been for Dean's life. It was the same resignation Sam had resented in Dean and had revolted against. Now the tables were turned, and Dean wasn't blind to the irony of the situation. He remembered the fierce resolution in his little brother's gaze, and the despair that ensued when Sam didn't find the answers he was looking for. Dean remembered the love too, shining like a beacon in Sam's eyes as he looked at Dean in search of a sign, some sort of permission, to keep fighting for the older sibling's life.

"I'm sorry." Dean murmured.

Sam should be in Philly, living the dream. But of course, Dean had been weak and had interrupted his little brother's dream _again_ to drag him back to the nightmare of his life. As if Dean didn't know already that it always ended badly.

"This is all my fault." He finished.

Sam's frown furrowed and he dug his elbows into the mattress to try and sit up.

"It's not, Dean." The younger argued.

Sam's immediate forgiveness made Dean's stomach twist and a wet laugh broke free.

"Why does it feel like we keep having the same conversation back and forth?" He mused tiredly.

Sam smiled. "Because we're fucked up, man."

And that made Dean laugh again.

"Come here." Sam said, vaguely extending his hand towards Dean.

The older sobered immediately and stared at his brother's hand as if it was a poisonous snake. His muscles froze in place, and he felt the edges of his world grey out.

"No." He heard himself muttering thickly.

Sam wanted to say goodbye, Dean felt it in every particle of the soul they shared. His answer was pure and unadulterated denial, but if Sam picked up on the fear that laced Dean's one-word response, he didn't show it.

"Dean." He pressed.

"Sammy, no…" Dean bargained, losing another mile in the trench in his fight for composure. "I gotta to keep looking."

"Please." Sam delivered his final blow, with a pleading expression across his face.

Dean shook his head again, but he did it out of habit, or maybe some kind of freaky instinct or wired circuit. Everything in his nature was against giving up, but his nature had been crushed and Sam's plea broke him irreparably. In that moment, going to Sam was all he had left to give. So he went to his brother's side, his stomach twitching painfully as the younger shifted to give him room. The bed was warm and Sam relaxed visibly as soon as Dean sat with his back against the headboard.

"You should get some rest." Sam mumbled, blinking at the ceiling. "You must be still sore from the hit you took."

Sam sounded content as he lay on his back, barely an inch from his big brother's leg. Dean felt his traitorous body respond to the calmness and intimacy of the moment. Letting down his guard, he shut his eyes tight against the burn behind his eyelids.

"We still have time, Sammy." Dean argued in a rough voice. "I could… I will keep you under, make it easier for-"

"No, Dean." Sam turned his head and pierced Dean with a sober glare. The older looked away, but his brother squeezed his leg softly to claim his attention back, and Dean reluctantly faced him again. "I don't want that."

"It'll give us time." Dean defended obstinately.

"I mean it." Sam emphasized gravely. "I'd rather die than end up like Phoebe."

Dean winced. He hadn't forgotten the woman in the hospital either, neither the machines surrounding her or the slack curve of her dry lips. Her vacant look was engraved in his retinas and the thought of Sam sedated like that, helpless and absent like an empty shell, made Dean nauseous.

"Promise me, Dean." Sam demanded.

_Damn puppy-dog eyes._ Dean pursed his lips and wished he could bury his head in his hands and disappear.

"Sammy." Dean said, grappling with the need to bolt.

"Promise me" Sam repeated relentlessly.

It was Sam's life, his right to decide. Any other time, Dean would have admitted that. For any other person, he would have acknowledged and respected it. But this was _Sam_ dying, and Dean wasn't above anything to save him.

"I can't promise you that." Dean replied honestly, clutching at any glimmer of hope he could to quell the churning sensation of bitterness pooling inside him. "I won't."

Dean forced himself to look at Sam in the eye, his gaze apologetic but firm, and the younger Winchester didn't insist. For all the times Sam had been at the other side of a forced promise of the same kind, he had to understand that Dean was as ill-equipped to let go as Sam had been. For an eternal minute, the siblings held each other's gazes in a shared look that was both soothing and agonizing.

"Try to sleep, bro." Dean's voice trembled, as he idly stroked the side of Sam's head.

Sam curled his fingers in the fabric of his brother's jeans and stilled. "You too." He whispered.

Dean almost rolled his eyes, but since Sam had closed his, the gesture of annoyance would have been lost on his little brother.

So Dean started crying instead.

**ooooooooooo0oooooooooooo**

Dean slept. It wasn't something he had planned to do, but the room was dark, Sam's distracted mutterings had quieted down, and even the computer on the table had gone into sleep mode. Sam was sleeping fitfully, facing Dean, while Dean's hand rested on the side of his little brother's neck, where he could feel the reassuring beat of his pulse. Dean remembered thinking about resuming his research, but his body refused the order and took control. After that, he didn't remember anything. He slept on, deep and dreamless for the first time in weeks.

When he woke up, the awkward position had left him even sorer than the previous night. Dean grimaced as he opened his eyes and tested his muscles one by one. He felt rested, and his mind was clearer. Working out the kinks of his neck, he stretched as far as the empty bed allowed him.

Then memory kicked in and his heart did a somersault.

"Sam?" Dean gasped.

The sheets were wrinkled and tossed aside, and his brother was nowhere in sight. Dean's side felt cold where Sam had been leaning against him. The older sibling couldn't estimate how long it had been since Sam had left —and damn, how could he have slept through it?— and Dean felt the first tendrils of panic escalate into his throat.

"SAM!"

Dean frantically searched the room, the parking lot, the surrounding streets… Sam wasn't answering his phone. He could be anywhere, gone off to finish his life while Dean dozed.

_No…No, Sammy, please no…_

The worst part was that Dean had somehow known. The previous night, the profound sadness in Sam's eyes hadn't been guilt, but peace over a decision made. His soft words of absolution had been Sam's farewell. The part of Dean's heart that kept pumping hope through his veins was chipping away. Dean had let Sam believe that he was okay with letting him go, but it had been just fatigue and despair talking. The way Dean was looking for his brother now, the hysterical way his lungs constricted, his hands shaking and his pulse in overdrive had nothing to do with acceptance.

_Sam I swear…You don't get to check out on me, you hear? I'm sorry I failed you, please give me another chance. Just one._

Eventually, Dean found Sam on the motel's roof, not far from the room after all. The younger was still wearing the same T-shirt and sweater pants he had slept in, despite the cold wind, and even from a dozen feet away, Dean could see the goose bumps on Sam's biceps.

"Sam?" He called cautiously.

Dean didn't dare to approach him right away, because Sam was dangerously close to the edge. His little brother seemed delirious, gazing into the void through red-rimmed eyes, and didn't acknowledge Dean's call. Dean recognized the look, the magnetism of the abyss and, terrified, he advanced.

"Sammy." Dean tried in a gentler voice.

This time Sam heard him, but his call didn't obtain the reaction Dean was aiming for, because Sam startled and stepped back in the direction of the edge. The older stopped cold, and didn't dare to breathe again until Sam recognized him and halted his approach to the edge just in time.

"I thought you were asleep." Sam muttered in a faraway tone. "You should be asleep."

"Fuck you." Dean barked, anger crystallizing fast after the scare Sam had just given him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I didn't want you to see this." Sam protested, a desolated expression crossing his face.

"Right. You thought it was better for me to wake up and find you smashed against the curb? Jesus Christ, Sam!" Dean yelled.

Sam lowered his head, remorse evident on his eyes.

_Way to go, Dean, putting more crap on the kid's shoulders. _

"Dude." Dean swallowed and made an effort to speak in a calmer tone. "Let's just-"

"You know when you said…" Sam interrupted Dean, but trailed off as he looked at the older hunter with a little frown. "Last month, you asked me if I realized how many people had died on your account." Sam said frailly and Dean shook his head, already knowing where Sam was headed, "I've been…been thinking about how many have died on _mine._"

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. He didn't doubt for a second that his Sammy hadn't lost the count for one single day.

"Why am I still alive, Dean? How many more have to die…how many more do I have to kill for…?" Sam rambled.

"Sam, stop it" Dean pleaded.

"I don't deserve to be here. I should-"

"Sam, this is not you." Dean cut him off. "It's the furies, they're messing up with your mind, remember?"

"Maybe." Sam conceded. "I'm sure they are. But it was _me_ who the demon was after when he killed Jess. When he killed Mom."

"That's not-" Dean started with a huff.

"It was _me_ who slashed Steve Wendell's throat." The younger deadpanned.

"That wasn't you!" Dean said, his voice full of frustration.

"I shot you, Dean. Twice!" Sam cried.

Dean ran a hand through his face and rubbed his eyes, silently counting to five to rein in the growing trepidation whirling inside of him.

"We've talked about this, remember?" Dean said in a cool tone he didn't feel. "Whammied or possessed doesn't count. And what the demon did is on him. Not on you, Sam." The older insisted firmly.

"There's more." Sam insisted. "There're things you don't-"

"Sam, if you jump off this roof, I'm jumping right after you, you know that, right?"

Dean's words were not blackmail, not a trick, but the simple statement of the truth. They caught Sam's attention, and the younger shot Dean an anguished look.

"And you know I'm not really happy with high places, right?" Dean advanced toward Sam with a poor attempt at humor, if only to mask the plea that followed. "So do me a favor, come down with me, okay?"

Sam snorted a laugh, but there was absolutely no joy in the sound.

"You keep trying to keep me here." He said sadly. "But you can't, Dean."

Dean swallowed and raised his arms wide in a helpless gesture.

"You're right. I can't if you don't help me." The older replied, his tone naked.

Sam's frown deepened and tears shone in his eyes. He glanced over the edge of the roof wistfully. The promise of peace probably very appealing and it pulled at Sam with a velvety grip. Really, what had Dean to offer in comparison? He could only wait with baited breath, his body poised to jump for his brother, while Sam rubbed his head and decided over both their fates. What he didn't expect was Sam's face to crumble all of a sudden. Or hearing him let out a piercing scream that made Dean jump out of his skin.

"Sam…?"

The younger panted heavily, clenching his fists at his sides. His demeanor had changed but Dean recognized his rage and frustration as what it was: Sam fighting.

"I'm sorry." Sam said, his voice low and tense, as he shook his head. "God, it hurts so badly when I try to block them, Dean."

"I know." Dean shushed, feeling guilty for demanding that Sam endured such an extreme amount of pain just because he asked. "But you have to hang on. Just a little longer, man. Winchesters don't take the easy way out, right?" He offered lamely.

Sam glanced at the edge of the roof again, perhaps considering how good the easy way would feel. But this time Dean advanced towards him and was ready to ground Sam when the younger predictably startled at the feel of Dean's firm grip on his arm. When Sam sought Dean's gaze, there was nothing but agony in his eyes and in the painfully tight grip he had of his big brother's wrist.

"Tell me again." Sam gulped, his words unsteady. "That it's not my fault."

Dean's voice softened as he pulled Sam to him and away from the edge.

"It's not your fault." He swore.

Sam's chin trembled as he took a sobbing intake of air. A grunt escaped him when he exhaled and he brought his hands to his temples.

"Fuck." He mustered in a threaded voice.

Dean balanced his wavering sibling, although he was feeling somewhat weak with relief himself.

"We have morphine in the room." Dean reminded Sam.

Dean had meant it as an offering. It was his way to reassure Sam that he wasn't letting him hurt and do nothing. But it had the opposite effect on his little brother, who tried to pull away from him.

"Dean-" Sam started to protest.

The elder didn't let go of Sam, readjusting his grip softly and clasping his other hand on his little brother's shoulder to make Sam lock eyes with him.

"A small dose, Sammy." Dean compromised.

"Not like Phoebe." The younger insisted.

"Not like Phoebe. I promise."

**ooooooooooo0oooooooooooo**

Sam zoned out in the bed as he swam in a drug-induced calmness. Dean had honored his promise and gave his brother a small dose, wanting to help him sleep instead of knocking him out. Then he resumed his research, while keeping watch on Sam out of the corner of his eye. A frown had been installed on the younger's forehead and judging by the tight line of his lips, he was clearly fighting a battle inside his head that Dean had no part in. At least he looked better now, more centered, as if he was enjoying a brief second of respite inside the spiral of torture that had trapped him before.

Dean was engrossed in his research when Sam mumbled something: a name. The older man tore his eyes from the computer screen and observed his brother worriedly. He knew that Sam had been dreaming and hallucinating of Jess and Madison. He had even cried out for their mother at times. But Dean didn't recognize that particular nightmare of Sam's.

"Sam?" Dean called softly, as he rested a light hand on his brother's knee.

"Hmm?" Sam, mumbled, his eyes glazed when he slid them to Dean.

Dean worked his jaw, hesitating as he considered carefully his next step. Talking could be too big of an effort for Sam, who needed to concentrate on keeping the spell just on the right side between torture and insanity. But Dean needed to know.

"Who is Matthew?"

An unidentified emotion flickered behind Sam's closed up expression, and the younger Winchester averted his tormented gaze again and rolled his head on the pillow.

"Who?" He rasped.

If there had ever been a time were Sam's vibes screamed at Dean to _back the fuck off right now_ it was then, but Dean steeled himself against the unspoken request.

"You've been crying out for him on and off for the last two days." Dean said simply.

Sam tensed even more and fumbled to sit up and flee, but in his hazy state, it was easy for Dean to stop him with a firm hand on Sam's chest. Sam's accusatory glare told him how unfair it was, but Dean could sense this was important.

"So?" Dean pressed, without breaking contact.

The younger's glare hardened, then misted over, twisting the knife inside Dean's gut even deeper.

"You already know who he is, don't you?" Sam hissed. "So why are you asking?"

Dean ground his teeth together and took a deep breath before replying. "Because I want you to tell me what happened."

"What does it matter now?" Sam resisted. "You've never really wanted to know before."

Dean flinched slightly at the truth in his brother's affirmation. Not talking about things was Dean's safe way to get through the day, and it was undeniable that he had allowed the deal Sam had broken to become a taboo between the two of them. Now, he realized that it had been a mistake; he should have pushed Sam into talking before so that they both could move on, instead of shoving another secret under the rug.

"It is important _now_." Dean defended. "Because if what happened with that guy is on your mind and they are using it against you, I need to know what it is. I need to able to help you."

Sam looked at him through big, wounded eyes and said nothing. Dean felt like the most vicious and cruel brother in the whole world.

"I know you don't want to talk about and I get it." Dean pursed his lips, and his hand rubbed unconsciously Sam's chest, where it rested under his heart. "I just… I don't know _who_ you are trying to protect."

"Dean…"

"Because if it's _you..._if you think that I'm gonna flip out or..." Dean shook his head, huffing a snort. It was unthinkable that Sam believed he could hate him. "I won't, Sammy. I promise. And if it's _me..._" Dean swallowed and met Sam's eyes squarely. "Just don't. Sam, _don't_. Not like this. Not by letting them tear you apart. Please, little brother." He finished in a whisper. "Trust me."

**ooooooooooo0oooooooooooo**

The mid-morning breeze was warm outside the motel room, where Dean leaned against the wall, still like a chiseled statue. Bobby had been surprised at Dean's call and was even more shocked to find him outside the room. He rushed towards the older Winchester as soon as he got out of his car and Dean looked up and forced a smile that carried the weight of the world.

"Hey, Bobby."

Dean's voice was rough and the apparently casual slouch of his shoulders against the wooden wall was nothing but laid-back if you knew how to read the tension in it. Bobby studied his friend's face, taking in the weary lines under dulled green eyes.

"Hey, kid. How is Sam?" Bobby asked carefully.

His little brother's condition would be directly related to Dean's and the older Winchester looked like shit, so the question came automatically to Bobby's lips. Dean gulped imperceptibly and looked to his left. Following his gaze, Bobby could see Sam through the window. The youngest hunter was in bed, with his back to them.

"He's asleep now." Dean replied hoarsely.

The gentle movement that animated the youngest hunter's shoulders as he breathed released a knot in Bobby's throat. He should have known that Dean wouldn't let Sam out of his sight.

"Have you got anything?" Dean asked him.

Bobby hated having to break the timid note of hope in the question, but the truth was that his research hadn't panned out as he would have wanted. There were tones of literature about the Furies, but none of it explained how to break the curse if they refused to let their victim go. His silence was enough of an answer and Dean nodded, deceptively calm.

"Are they giving you any trouble?" Dean asked, referring to Alec, Trisha and Megan. "They're still in your panic room, right?"

"Bunker." Bobby corrected. "I do not panic, you idjit."

"Right." Dean said with a short chuckle.

Bobby smiled too and both hunters remained silent for a few minutes. Dean's focus was totally on Sam, his eyes going back to his brother's sleeping form through the dirty glass every couple of seconds. Watching over Sam was comfortable for Dean, as natural for him as breathing, but Bobby started to fidget, unsure of what Dean needed from him.

"He told me. About Matthew, and the deal. He told me everything." Dean blurted out suddenly, his tone unreadable.

Bobby's heart skipped a beat but Dean's face remained inscrutable. The seasoned hunter didn't dare to say a word, until it was obvious that Dean wasn't going to say anything else.

"And how do you feel about that?" Bobby questioned warily.

Dean, who had been keeping his head tilted towards the window, turned to Bobby.

"How do I feel?" He arched an eyebrow, the gesture almost a grimace on his wrung out face. "Honestly, Bobby? I don't know."

Bobby nodded silently as he approached Dean and leaned against the veranda, across from him.

"I mean I can't begin to imagine what he... " Dean's throat worked up and down and his gaze wandered as he struggled with his thoughts. "But then I _do_. And it's like..." Dean winced trailing off, as he met Bobby's eyes. "I'm sorry for that guy, because he shouldn't have died like that. Not for me. But, I can't…" Dean closed his eyes. "Right now that's what is killing Sam. He's dying on me, Bobby, and I don't have energy to feel much, you know. I'm just..." He waved his hand vaguely, in a helpless gesture.

_Numb_. Bobby nodded again, understanding. Only…

"Sam's not dying, Dean." Bobby reminded him, his voice stern.

"Yeah, okay." It was Dean's turn give a disheartened nod. Bobby wanted to insist, but Dean didn't seem to want to hear platitudes. "So I guess that's what put you two at odds, huh?"

Despite the absence of recrimination in Dean's voice, Bobby felt his cheeks redden and he couldn't look at Dean in the eye.

"Dean, I-" Bobby started.

"No, it's okay, I get it, believe me. I wouldn't have approved either." Dean shook his head and let out a humorless laugh. "We should listen to you more often, you know? You've seen more, you're more experienced..."

"You saying I'm old?" Bobby growled.

Another laugh and Bobby was pleased to see a glint back in Dean's eyes.

"I'm saying you're _wiser_, Bobby." The younger reformulated with a roll of eyes. Then he added, more soberly. "You always have been. Sometimes is like all Sam and I know how to do is run in circles, get knocked around and struggle. We're _always _struggling to keep each other alive."

Dean's words made Bobby think of John, the best friend he had ever had and the man who had pissed him off more than anyone. He could only wonder if Dean was thinking about his father too as he spoke.

"But the truth was... it's kinda all we've got left too." Dean added with a sad smile and a rueful shrug. "So I guess what I want to say is thanks."

That threw Bobby off balance, because the last scenario that had crossed his mind was Dean thanking him.

"For what?" The older man asked in puzzlement.

The gaze Dean fixed on him was completely serious.

"For keeping him alive."

Bobby swallowed, feeling every bit as undeserving of Dean's gratitude as it was possible.

"I didn't do anything, Dean." He confessed, not particularly proud to admit it.

"You didn't let him sacrifice himself." Dean said sternly. "You did enough."

The older hunter looked down, uneasy at Dean's open appreciation. The truth was that he felt he had failed both boys so completely that it was a miracle they still talked to him at all.

_I'm so sorry, John._

"Hey, can you watch him for a while?" Dean changed the subject abruptly. "He's out, you shouldn't need to get too close."

"Where are you going?" Bobby asked, surprised that Dean asked him of all people.

"Nowhere...around." Dean shrugged and took a deep breath. "I need to clear my head. But it's okay if you don't-"

"Of course, I'll stay." Bobby reassured quickly.

Dean gave him a crooked smile and surprised Bobby by pulling the older hunter into an unexpected hug.

"Thank you."

Bobby's hardened heart halted, and the pit of his stomach tightened into a knot around his composure.

"Whoa, should I start calling you Deana, now?" He grouched for appearance's sake, even as he returned the embrace.

Dean's laugh rumbled against Bobby's ribcage before the younger pulled away with a parting pat on Bobby's back.

"Don't do anything stupid, okay?" Bobby warned, only half joking.

Dean snorted as he took the Impala's keys out of his jacket pocket.

"You offend me, Bobby." He replied, with a pout.

He seemed ready to leave, but in the last moment, he looked up again, trapping Bobby's gaze in his.

"Bobby? Don't be mad at him." Dean asked, with a timid bow of his head. "We can't do this without you."

"Of course you can." Bobby grumbled.

Dean's eyes softened, his gaze turning inwards, as he waved Bobby goodbye with a faraway half-smile.

* * *

_TBC_


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello all! Next chapter! There is a little flashback (in three parts) in italics, going back to Sam's confession to Dean. I hope you'll like it!**

**Only one more chapter after this. Enjoy!**

**Thanks Megan! Have fun in Gràcia :)**

* * *

_**Unleashed Fury**_

X

_"It should have been me who drank it"_

_Dean arched an eyebrow, hinting a shaky smile. "You are not making much sense, kiddo." He quipped softly, trying to keep it light._

_But Sam looked downright devastated and it was getting increasingly harder for Dean to keep his features schooled into supportive blankness. And then Sam groaned in pain, hands flying to his head as his body curled marginally away from Dean. Startled, the elder froze, looked down at his hand that was resting on Sam and realized that doubt had crept his way into his own frayed nerves. Despite himself, Dean was scared of what he'd learn. And if Sam was picking on that fear like it was blame..._

Jesus

_Dean hastily tried to move his hand away, but Sam was even faster at grabbing Dean's wrist to keep the connection._

_"Sam..." Dean protested, instinct flaring at the idea of causing the younger man more pain._

_"I'm sorry." Sam responded needily, turning his naked, soulful eyes towards his brother._

_Dean shook his head jerkily, unwilling to pull his hand from Sam's forcibly, but terrified all the same._

_"It should have been me who died." Sam finished darkly._

_Pinned by Sam's gaze, Dean felt a weird, cold certainty that his little brother really believed what he had just said. Strangely, that was what calmed Dean down, it reminded him of why they were rehashing that night. To save Sam's life which, in the end, will always be Dean's ultimate goal__, his raison d'être. Protecting Sam had always succeeded in obliterating Dean's fears._

_"What happened?" Dean asked calmly, letting his hand relax inside his brother's grip and willing his pulse not to betray the storm inside his chest._

_Sam stared at him for a few seconds longer. Then, he started to talk._

_

* * *

_

_One_

Dean drove steadily through the two-lane road. The car window was rolled down and casually rested his elbow on the frame. The radio was turned down low, barely audible over the engine's purr, but the guitar riffs echoed above the rhythmic beat that came from the speakers. Dean knew the song playing, and his lips wrapped around the familiar words in silence, as he punctuated the verses tapping the wheel with his fingers. There had been a time when the car, the music and the open road would have been enough to relax him. Dean had never been a man who ran away from his problems, but the Impala was his hiding place when things became too much. At times, driving her had been the only way to drown out the noise, and figure out what needed to be done.

_Two_

He missed that, the comfort of such a simple routine as driving his father's muscle car. Now every time he took over the wheel, his stomach turned into a twisted mess and his hands trembled madly. A useless glance at the empty passenger side elicited a soft sigh from Dean. This was the first time he drove alone since Lillian and he could feel a line of sweat running down the back of his neck. His arm that was over the window frame was so taut that the metal bit into his flesh.

_Three_

It was all wrong, _so_ wrong. But that wasn't new for Dean Winchester. He set his jaw, nervously pushed the nausea down and sang along to the radio, while his mind chanted a mantra of its own. His trusty counting drill was the last defense of control over chaos. When everything else failed him, he could still force himself to go on discipline alone.

_Four..._

A red ball came out of nowhere, barely a flash of color on the edge of Dean's vision, and he stepped on the brakes so hard his heart leaped into his throat and almost went through the front windshield. He waited with baited breath for a kid to follow the stray toy, but when none appeared, Dean searched for the ball himself. Instead of a ball, the mysterious object turned out to be a plastic bag that disappeared in the rearview window pushed by the wind.

_No, no, no._

Dean couldn't start the car right away, his racing pulse wild inside his tight skin. His lungs refused to expand for air and his first attempt at an intake was stolen by a hiccupped sob. He bent forwards, and leaned his spinning head against the leather wheel, gripping its sides so tightly that his fingers went numb.

_Don't you dare choke now._

Behind him, a car honked impatiently. The hands of his watch moved as seconds ticked by, its sound booming as a hammer against an anvil in the heavy air of the Impala, but no sound registered until Dean's ears stopped ringing. He had felt shaky before, but now he couldn't even re-start the car until his third try. The rest of the cars passed him easily, and Dean ignored them, too focused on driving without throwing up. When a few minutes later, Bobby's backyard appeared in the horizon, Dean allowed himself to think of Sam, his little brother's name like a password to his willpower of reserves. Dean even dared to speed up. It wasn't safe, but without Sam, Dean doubted he could ever feel safe again.

_Five_.

* * *

Bobby sat awkwardly in the furthest corner of the room, silently watching Sam sleep. It wasn't the first time he had kept an eye on the youngest Winchester when Sam was sick, but Bobby had rarely been alone as Sam's sentry. Through the years, whenever Sam was injured, John was there, protective and furious like a worried lion. And when John hadn't been there, Dean had always been Sam's rightful, fierce last line of defense.

The unfairness of the situation washed over Bobby, the pain familiar. The responsibility of Sam's care wasn't something Dean gave away lightly and the fact that he had trusted Bobby despite everything was humbling. Sam had trusted him once too. The memory of the long, fearful hours he had spent watching an unconscious Dean in the eve of his deadline had scarred the seasoned hunter's spirit in a way that would never heal completely. Bobby had redefined the meaning of _helpless_ then, and he was beginning to feel the same tendrils of desperate uselessness wrapping around his heart now.

Sam was suffering right in front of him, twitching and moaning softly, fighting a nightmare that Bobby had unconsciously helped weave. The older hunter had never wanted things to get so bad between him and Sam. Somehow, Bobby was starting to understand John better. The complicated mixture of resentment and love that stopped his friend from talking to his son, yet kept him up at nights missing him as if Sam had taken a part of his heart with him. Those feelings had been at the core of many fights between Bobby and Sam's father. And then the stubborn son of a bitch had stopped calling, had fallen off the face of the Earth and he had died.

Bobby would have given anything for the chance to make amends with John, but it was too late for that. Getting it right with his kids was the only thing he could do, but he couldn't reconcile how much he loved Sam with the fact that the kid had unforgiveably crossed a line.

_Don't be mad at him_, Dean had begged him. Bobby could picture Dean wishing the same thing from his father. Had he ever dared to ask John?

Sam's stirring distracted Bobby from his musing, but he wasn't prepared when the younger's dazed eyes looked straight at him. Sam seemed equally surprised, and stared at Bobby through blown pupils, before throwing a wary look around the room.

"Dean?" He rasped, in a confused tone.

"He's gone." Bobby answered.

As Sam's expression fell, Bobby quickly rewound his answer inside his mind.

_He told me. About Matthew, and the deal. He told me everything…_

"Just for a walk." Bobby quickly clarified, guessing that Sam thought Dean couldn't take his confession and _left_. "He said he needed to clear his head, but he will be back soon."

Sam shot him a doubtful look and struggled to sit up.

"Sam, maybe you shouldn't…" Bobby stammered, raising nervously to his feet.

Before he could finish the sentence, Sam planted his feet on the carpet and pushed himself up, wavering precariously as soon as he was vertical. He would have face-planted if he hadn't reached out for the wall at the last moment. Bobby's muscles tensed again, aching to jump to Sam's aid, but the older hunter restrained himself. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as Sam stumbled his way to the desk. The young Winchester fumbled for his cell, and dialed Dean's number automatically. A guitar riff echoed somewhere inside the room barely a second later.

"Damn kid." Bobby grumbled, realizing that Dean had left his phone behind.

Sam leaned with both hands against the desk, his finger clenching his cell as he shook his head and muttered something under his breath. After a beat, he stepped back from the table, staggered to the window and peered out.

"I- uh…was he…is he okay?" Sam asked Bobby, his voice wavering as his eyes flickered to Bobby.

Bobby exhaled. It figured Sam's first thought would be on Dean's emotional state.

"He'll be fine, Sammy." Bobby said. "He just needed some space."

Sam nodded slowly, lips twitching in what could be an attempt to smile or an effort to keep tears at bay.

"Did he tell you about Angela?" Sam questioned faintly.

"Yeah, he called me yesterday." Bobby crossed his arms over his chest. "That poor woman is buckets of crazy. But I checked her story, and one thing is true. Eric J Martin Jr. died years ago."

Sam winced and rubbed his forehead in a clear sign of uneasiness. "Do you really think he raped her?" He asked, his voice weak and heavy with weariness.

"I don't know, Sam." Bobby muttered.

"Why would someone do something like that?" Sam questioned, turning to Bobby with a wide-eyed gaze. "Why do we keep hurting each other, Bobby? It doesn't make any sense!"

Bobby shrugged his discomfort at the question. He didn't want to upset Sam further, and he couldn't think of a good answer for him. Humans sucked, that wasn't new. But Bobby wasn't going to give Sam a lame speech about how there was goodness in people too. It was Sam who usually displayed an unbreakable faith in human nature and his despondency was unsettling in a primal level.

"People are crazy, son." Bobby said softly. "Some of them are simply evil, and they don't stop at anything to get what they want"

Sam stared at Bobby for a long time, swallowing convulsively. Finally, a trembling smile curved up the corner of Sam's lips.

"You're right." He whispered.

Bobby shuddered internally, his conscience screaming at him to clarify that he wasn't referring to Sam. But before the older hunter could say anything, Sam continued: "I think I have an idea. It may not work, but it's worth trying." He said softly.

"What kind of idea?"

Bobby hadn't wanted to sound suspicious, but a traitorous shiver of apprehension permeated his tone and Sam's body crumbled under the blame it carried.

"Sam!" Bobby exclaimed, alarmed, as he started to approach him.

He stopped dead when Sam raised a trembling hand to halt his advance. The younger's face was tight, his lips pursed white. Keeping his other hand against the window frame, Sam buried his forehead in his arm and struggled to stifle the whimpering exhales that caught his breath. Guilt sat like acid inside Bobby's stomach, eroding and inescapable, and the pain of digging his nails into his palms was almost a welcome distraction.

"Maybe you should take something, and get some more sleep." Bobby suggested, wishing he could erase the lines of pain from Sam's face, and lift the weight of remorse from his own shoulders.

Sam only leaned harder against the window frame, using both hands to brace himself, and closed his eyes for a long moment. When he opened them again, his pupils were glassy, but Sam was in control and determined to keep it together.

"Sam?" Bobby questioned worriedly.

"I'm good." Sam lied, his voice blatantly wavering. "I… I don't want to take anything. It's not too bad right now and it lets me think. I don't know how much longer it'll last"

He took a deep breath as he stepped away from the window and silently started to pull on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. His movements around the room were woozy, but resolute. Bobby watched him without daring to intervene, not sure of what Sam intended to do. Then Sam headed for the door, seemingly ready to go out on his own, and Bobby jumped.

"Where do you think you're going?" Bobby grunted.

Sam swallowed and froze with his hand on the door knob. The look he aimed at his father's friend was heavy with need and a _please, let's just not fight_ shade what deflated Bobby instantly.

"You don't have to come, Bobby." Sam replied in a soft, non-judgmental tone.

"Yes, I do." Bobby retorted soberly. This time, he wasn't going to let Sam down. "I want to help you."

The tentative smile that blossomed on Sam's lips affected Bobby, as it always had through the years. It was no wonder that Dean was ready to do whatever it took to make Sam smile.

"You don't even know what I have in mind." Sam muttered.

"I trust you." Bobby replied honestly. Sam's gaze shone in response, and Bobby felt his own eyes beginning to sting, he cleared his throat very manly and added, "besides, that stubborn brother of yours took the Impala, so you're gonna need a ride."

Sam shook his head in amusement and held Bobby's eyes gravely, as the latter held his breath in fear that the shared look would hurt the boy again. In his mind, he was already going through all the ways in which being together in the same car could go wrong.

"Thanks." Sam finally said.

The younger's expression was a mask of countenance that couldn't completely hide the lines of pain. That evidence, along with Sam's quiet acceptance of the offered help, let Bobby know that they needed to hurry, because Sam couldn't keep it together much longer.

* * *

_He told Dean about the legend and the loophole that would cancel the deal; about Bobby's reaction and the hoodoo drug he had dosed Dean with. About how he had needed a bait and how he had found it._

_Sam told Dean about Matthew and the day he had spent with him, before the hellhounds tore him apart before the hunter's eyes._

_His voice was flat, the facts harsh in their own right but especially so, coated in Sam's self-derision. The younger's eyes didn't budge from Dean's, openly challenging the older Winchester to hate him for killing an innocent. Begging him to, in a way, while he held onto Dean's hand as if he wanted the contact to hurt._

_And the whole time, Dean found himself struggling to breathe through his brother's confession._

_When Sam finished his story, he fell into an expectant silent. But Dean was at a loss for words, both of forgiveness or condemnation or whatever it was Sam bracing himself for. He stood up, dislodging his wrist from Sam's hold gently, but firmly. His little brother didn't protest this time and Dean turned his back on him as he paced to the window and leaned both hands on the frame._

_Will it ever stop? People dying for them?_

_

* * *

_

The old pick-up truck moved smoothly towards their destination, and Bobby and Sam remained silent. Bobby hadn't failed to notice that even though Sam sat with him in the front seat, the younger had kept curled against the window, as far away as possible from Bobby. Sam's breathing had become shallow in the last few minutes and he was keeping himself very still. He looked like he was carved on marble, pale and cold and grimly strong.

"How much longer?" Sam gritted out, his voice strained.

"Five minutes, son." Bobby muttered, as he stepped on the gas.

His marble boy was cracking, tearing at the veins.

"We should have waited for your brother." Bobby commented, his voice low. "Or at least left him a note. He's going to freak out if he comes back and can't find us."

Sam blinked owlishly at Bobby's voice, as if it sounded distant. It took him a moment to bring himself back from the secluded part of his head he was slowly withdrawing to and answer Bobby.

"It's better like this. If we had waited for him he would have insisted that I stay behind while..." Sam trailed off after a couple of seconds. "Oh, _fuck_."

Sam's gasp pulled Bobby's attention to him in time to see the youngest banging his head roughly against the headrest.

"Sam?"

"I- I'm fine." Sam answered through clenched teeth. "Keep driving."

Bobby shook his head, fighting his instincts to reach out, stop the car, do_ something_ to ease Sam's suffering. The younger's wide-eyed gaze was fixed in an indefinite point in the distance and he looked downright broken.

"I'd die for Dean, you know that, right?" Bobby blurted out all of a sudden.

Sam frowned and shot Bobby a glazed look.

"Yes, I know." The younger answered in an honest tone.

Bobby's throat bobbled up and down, uncomfortably tight. A ring of ice had tightened around the pit of his stomach and the gentle warmth of Sam's faith threatened to melt it and drown the older hunter in tears.

"But you don't think I'd kill for him." The older man stated matter-of-factly, his voice breaking along the edges.

Sam averted his eyes, his jaw working as he pondered his answer. Knowing him, he was probably trying to find something to say that was true, but not unfair; accepting, and yet sincere.

His answer was obviously no. But then Bobby hadn't really asked either.

It didn't really matter, not anymore. Even if they would never agree or understand each other fully especially about the way things had played out when Sam had broken Dean's deal, Sam was still Sam. A kind soul who had done the unthinkable to save his brother's life; who had his sanity turning against him for it. It had been a crime Sam had committed, but also a sacrifice he had made; he had taken a life, and in exchange he had offered his soul.

"We're going to get you through this." Bobby said firmly.

It was the only thing he could come up with that felt true and reassuring at the same time.

"It's not me I'm worried about." Sam said vaguely, and leaned his forehead against the window.

Bobby shot him a troubled glance. "Well, I am." Bobby stated.

That earned him a frown from Sam, who turned in the seat to face Bobby fully.

"Why should you be, Bobby?" Sam gritted. "After all the things I've done, it's only fair."

Bobby gulped, moved by the desolation behind Sam's voice. The Furies were slowly destroying any shade of hopes, desire or self-preservation in Sam, because Sam was guilty and he _knew_ it. And as much as Bobby would have liked to persuade him otherwise, lies wouldn't give Sam something real to hold onto while the ground shattered under his feet.

"That's the furies talking. You realize that, don't you?"

"You sound like Dean." Sam mused with a tired smile.

"Well, Dean is right." Bobby grumbled.

Bobby's moody retort elicited a snort from Sam, who rubbed his temples and slumped against the window again.

"Funny. I thought you'd agree with me on this." The younger whispered, closing his eyes.

Bobby swallowed bitter incredulity, as his heart stuttered inside his ribcage.

"_What?_" He whispered, tears knotting his throat and pricking in the back of his eyes.

Did Sam really believe that Bobby wanted him to die? How could Bobby have let so much go unsaid between himself and John's youngest? Of course, given the way his touch had affected Sam, what else could the younger expect from him? Bobby blinked a couple of times to clear his vision, and he looked over Sam's defeated frame, determined to get some things straight.

"Do you believe in death penalty, Sam?" Bobby asked, his voice as even as he could manage.

"What?" Sam questioned, confused.

"You wanted to be a lawyer, so I bet you have given it some thought." Bobby continued. "Do you believe in the death penalty?"

It took a few seconds for Sam to catch up with what Bobby was asking, and when he did, he considered his answer for a beat longer than Bobby had expected. Sam could sense where Bobby was headed, but in the end, he answered truthfully.

"No." Then, more firmly, he repeated. "No, I don't."

Bobby arched his eyebrows, gaze charged and meaningful, clearly conveying how giving in to the Furies spell was contradictory with that statement. Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust

"But I do believe in life, Bobby." Sam added. "The things you do never go away. I know that now."

It was Bobby's turn to huff. Yeah, he could relate to that.

"We all have our crosses to bear, son. So we live, and we bear them." He said gruffly. Then his voice became softer, almost shy, as he asked. "You want to know what mine is?" Sam looked at Bobby inquisitively and the latter took a deep, bracing breath, before continuing, "That it should have been me in that warehouse. If you had used _me_ as bait, no innocent would have died."

Sam's eyes widened, as he studied Bobby with pursed lips. "No, it's been hard enough with a mere stranger. I don't think I would have been able to live with myself if it had been you." Sam said, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "And Dean..." Sam's Adam's apple bobbled. "After what my Dad did for him, he wouldn't have taken it any better."

Bobby didn't comment on the fact that Sam hadn't said that he wouldn't have done it, if Bobby had offered himself at the time, but he didn't need him to. Sam _would _have done it, that was something Bobby neither resented nor doubted. Sam would have done _anything _to save Dean and he had accepted to live with it. Bobby realized that he loved the two boys so much more because for that unbreakable loyalty. They would have found a way to move on after his sacrifice. At the end of the day it would have been Bobby's decision and the best reason to die he could think of.

"I'm sorry, Sam." He said simply.

_I know I failed you._

"Yeah." Sam said with a soft, sad smile that meant _we failed each other_. It was a real smile nonetheless, because for the first time since they had reunited, he and Sam were on the same page. "I'm sorry too."

* * *

"_Dean?"_

_Sam's thin call struck something inside Dean that, he was both amazed and thankful still beat. The elder swallowed and turned around slowly, without letting go of the frame completely. The floor felt spongy under his feet, his head light in the suddenly hot room. And Sam… he was sitting against the headboard, all the masochistic need for self-blame had faded from his expression at Dean's silence, just as the blood had leeched out of his face with the movement._

"_You didn't kill him, Sam." Dean spoke, his voice distant to his own ears._

_Sam's bright eyes widened a little, his chin trembling even as he set his jaw._

"_You haven't heard a word I've just said." He accused Dean._

_Dean huffed a snort and shook his head. He felt drunk, his knotted stomach so tight he was about to hurl. He had heard Sam alright. But after months of nightmares of blood, and virgins, and altar sacrifices, and Sam's stony face plunging a knife into someone's chest driven by a misplaced duty of saving his brother, Dean didn't know what to make of the real story. He felt as if someone had knocked him in the head then dumped him in an icy lake. He was still dazed amidst the__murky water__, trying to find his way back to the surface._

_But he held Sam's wounded gaze, taking in his shallow breathing, the sweat glistening across his forehead and most importantly the frightened pain in his glazed eyes._

"_No." Dean whispered hoarsely. "No, you didn't kill him."_

_Sam stared at his brother in bewilderment, sagging marginally against the pillows. Dean could feel in Sam the need to believe him, but also his reluctance._

"_That doesn't matter, Dean." Sam argued_

"_Yes, it does. Of course it does." Dean countered fiercely. "Everything matters. Because you don't feel guilty for killing him, dude. You feel guilty for failing to protect him."_

_The younger man released a breath and sagged a little more into the bed._

"_You don't understand." Sam muttered defiantly. "I feel guilty because I would have done it. I would have killed him. Dean, I would have done anything." _

_Dean stood there, floored by his brother's words. Sad beyond belief that life insisted on putting them in the same position over and over again._

"_And what part of that, Sammy, did you think I wouldn't understand?"_

_

* * *

_

Dean felt oddly calm when he stepped out of the car. At first, he rationalized that maybe he was simply relieved to relinquish the wheel. But as he walked towards Bobby's door and easily slipped inside with the spare key Bobby had forced on him months ago, his serenity only increased. Maybe the short drive had drained him and pushed him over the edge of nervousness, or Sam's confession had acted simply as an overload. His brother's anguish had flooded Dean's own. It had been the final push: he had stopped worrying over right choices and wrong choices and had just _chosen_.

He crossed Bobby's living room, and went straight to the basement. His renewed sense of purpose cushioned the ramming of his heart, slowing it down until he barely felt his heartbeat. His steps were soft against the stone in the eerie silence and even the chaos in his mind had quieted down.

It was cold downstairs, and Dean tightened his jacket around himself. Although no sound escaped the panic room, Dean had the distinct feeling that the Furies knew they had company. He breathed in and exhaled a long breath before approaching the door. Wordlessly, he leaned with his back against it, as he had positioned himself the first day. The cold metal didn't bite his skin through the layers of clothes he wore, but he sensed the chill hovering barely a few inches behind his neck and it made him shiver.

"You're back."

The voice reaching out from the panic room wasn't menacing, but somewhat solicitous. Alec had that way to get under people's skin, Dean had known it from the first couple of words they had exchanged. He was very different from the scornful Trisha and the shyer Megan. As a matter of fact, they were as different as three people could possibly be and yet it was obvious that the three of them were powerfully entangled. Despite himself, Dean found something appealing in those three interlaced supernatural siblings, who had managed to find each other across the centuries.

"Where else would I be." Dean said in a dull tone, closing his eyes and sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. Then he took the gun he kept tucked in the back of his jeans and let it hang absently in his hand, over his bent knees.

"We told you that you wouldn't find a way to save Sam." Megan intervened.

She sounded almost apologetic, but Dean reminded himself that she was the fury that had pushed two people to stab themselves to death for having an affair. No, there was nothing sensitive about her.

"There is a way." Dean countered. "There has always been a way."

"And what way would that be?" Alec questioned, his tone full with interest.

Dean swallowed before replying. "You need to declare him innocent."

Trisha let out a raucous laugh.

"_Innocent_?" She repeated in disbelief. "Your brother hasn't suffered nearly enough for what he has done."

"Oh, Trisha. I wish you knew." Dean laughed dryly. "I wish you had endured just a minimal part of the suffering my brother has carried inside all these years, without _your_ help. And then, I'd like to hear you talk about punishments."

"Is that why you're here, Dean?" Alec chimed in. "You want to vouch for Sam?"

Dean snorted softly. A trial? Was that what this was?

"You don't understand. You say you know him, because you… what? _Saw_ into the things he's done? But you don't even care why or how those things happened. You have no idea what he's gone through." Dean felt the sting of tears moistening his voice and bit his lips until his grief tasted like blood instead of salt. "Sam is not perfect, he's just…human." Dean continued shakily. "But he's the best person I know and he _doesn't_ deserve this."

"So you say, Dean." Alec defended softly. "But you're not objective. Humans hardly ever are."

"He has saved more people than you could ever know." Dean growled. "He has saved me in ways that you wouldn't…" Dean fisted his hands, and set his jaw with a grind of his teeth. "Alec…you are human too. Or at least you were. You can't tell me you didn't see the goodness in him, even if you weren't looking for it." A warm smile stretched across Dean's lips and his tone turned slightly awed unintentionally. "He _radiates_ it. All that is still good in this fucked up world, you look at him in the eye and it's right there. Sometimes you can't find it anywhere else. Sometimes it's too dark until he says your name and it all makes sense again."

His next intake of air faltered and Dean raised a trembling hand to wipe at his eyes. He couldn't break down yet, or Sam would be lost. He swallowed, and tried to keep the quiver out of his voice.

"_Please_, let him go and you will be free." Dean requested slowly and deliberately. "We won't try to stop you from doing your thing. I swear we'll just go. Sam… he's all I have."

He exhaled, his own emotions were making him dizzy and he felt weak after having voiced them in a way he hadn't thought he could. This was it. This was all he had to give. After all, Sam was the lawyer in the family, not Dean.

"So I guess I'm here to beg for his life." Dean concluded, his voice dropping to a whisper.

The silence that followed was charged, heavy and oppressive. Dean didn't dare hope, but couldn't help but hold his breath. He was ready for anything from a cruel laugh at how much of a pansy he had been baring his soul to those monsters, to a cry indicating that his speech had broken the curse and the Furies were melting inside like the witch from the Wizard of Oz.

"I'm sorry, Dean. It doesn't work that way." Alec muttered.

Dean clenched his teeth and banged his head against the door.

"He's _not_ who you're looking for." Dean gritted out.

"He's what we've got." Megan retorted.

"And we're not letting him go." Trisha added.

Dean no longer cared who spoke, as the voices of the Furies completed each other and flowed as one inside his head. He tilted his head up and stared up at the dark, damp basement ceiling, his eyes unfocused. He rolled his next words on his tongue, until his pulse was calm again and the plea rolled easily off his lips.

"Take me."

The silence that followed his soft offering was no less charged. Apparently, Trisha was the first one to shake off her astonishment.

"What?" She asked, bewildered.

Dean smiled, knowing by intuition that she had wanted him from the start.

"Let Sam go and I'll open the door. You can do whatever you want with me." Dean repeated evenly.

"Dean, why would we accept that?" Alec said.

The smile that curved up Dean's lips turned caustic, almost feral.

"If you think my brother is dark inside, it's just because you haven't seen _me_. It's me that Sam was trying to protect when he broke into your place. Dude, the things _I_'ve done…" Dean let out a dry laugh, purposely ignoring the lump forming inside his throat. "I'd blow your minds, you sons of bitches. Best hit you'll ever have. And I won't even fight you."

"If that's true you'll die." Megan pointed out, still incredulous.

The saddest part about their nature was that they really couldn't understand why Dean was willing to sacrifice himself for his brother. And he almost pitied them as he nodded to himself.

"Then I'll die."

* * *

Sam sat huddled in the passenger seat of Bobby's truck, feeling hot and cold, weak and jittery simultaneously. Part of the mixed sensation was due to the after-effects of the morphine that was slowly leaving his system. Unfortunately, the absence of the drug also left him fully open to the Furies' attack. The effort of shutting out their onslaught was causing his head to pound relentlessly. His ears buzzed filled with of dozens of sick voices battling for dominance.

Bobby was out, doing what they had come to do, and the distance helped Sam to sort out the chaos, but he hated staying behind. Helplessness made him feel even more frustrated and his weakness was nothing but another reason to feel guilty. He squirmed in the seat, uncomfortable inside his own skin. It was a weird sensation, that of feeling out of control of his body and hurting so much.

_Dean. Deandeandeandean... _Sam chanted mentally, like a prayer. His walls were crumbling, and invoking Dean was nothing but wishful thinking. Sam knew what was coming and he also knew that he wouldn't survive this time. His brother had been the one reason to keep fighting, the only buffer between Sam and his pressing need to _pay pay pay _for his sins. And now, Dean was too far away. However, Sam didn't regret having left with Bobby, because he was glad he Bobby had talked. While the older man's nearness still hurt, their truce would have to be enough for Sam not to open his veins or blow his head, which his conscience screamed at him to do.

He was monster after all: a killer and a robber and a liar. If any of it was a fabrication, if he could tell himself that the Furies were messing with his mind, it would be different. But it was the plain truth and Sam had known for a long time. He should have had the guts to end it long ago, before he had destroyed so many people. He was like a damn pest, bringing death wherever he went. Mary and Jess. Madison, Steve, Jake... Matthew. All of them had taken their turn haunting, pushing, yelling at him to let go so that they could have peace.

_Dean… God, Bobby hurry up._

Sam was quite sure that he didn't deserve peace, but owed them more than his mere existence, and it was selfish to try and find the strength to live. Justice would be served with his head and Dean would be free of the burden of dragging his little brother around. Bobby and Dean didn't need Sam to save Phoebe anymore, because Sam was broken, whether he tried to hold on or not. The calm he had felt when he had been ready to let go had been unique. He had never felt such an absolute sensation that everything was right in the world, only when he had grabbed the Impala's door handle, or stepped into the motel roof and gazed into the void.

_Then, why are you crying, Sam?_

Sam's eyes snapped open, and he gasped as he slid blurry pupils to the driver's seat. Swallowing bile back, Sam shook his head pleadingly, but the stern gaze that stared into Sam's soul through his tears didn't waver or disappear.

"Dad." Sam whimpered.

_No no no_, that wasn't fair.

"Why do you hesitate so much, son, when you know that it's the right thing to do?" John said reasonably.

"Don't do this." Sam pleaded in a torn voice. "Dad, don't. Not you too."

An instinctive sob for his brother pushed its way up Sam's throat, but he choked it down and buried his face in his hands, pressing the heel of his palms against his eyelids hard enough to see stars.

_It's not real…_

Sam's body shuddered as his nerve endings strained to take the overload of emotions that kept him painfully tied to the same reality he wanted to hide from. He knew John wasn't real, but when Sam tried to block his father's voice it felt as if a hot poker was being stabbed into his forehead. It was pain that crushed his resolve and Sam inexorably fell again.

"Look at me." John ordered.

Sam groaned and blindly reached out for the glove compartment, seeking something solid to anchor himself as he pushed himself further from John.

"You haven't changed, Sam. You're still so arrogant. You always thought you were better than everyone else, didn't you? That you could live while the rest of us died." John asked in a cruel tone.

"That's not true." Sam said weakly.

"Then, _why_ Sam?" His Dad questioned icily.

Sam cringed at the echo of too many nightmares of fire and recrimination. A phantom smell of ashes and burnt flesh made his stomach lurch and he bent forward, his hands fumbling wildly. The glove compartment fell open and its contents spilled on Sam's lap as he gagged dryly.

"You killed your mother." John said bluntly. "You killed your girlfriend."

"No." Sam murmured.

The hot poker dug into his temporal lobe and the spark ran all the way to the back of his skull. Sam gasped and curled into himself..

"Everyone around you suffers." John continued, relentlessly. "They die for you, wherever you go. You have to stop it, son. Once and for all."

Sam shook his head, but he couldn't find his voice anymore. The car was shrinking on him, and there was nowhere else to go.

"Dean." Sam mustered. The hammering between his eyes made him lightheaded and he threw his head back, his body seizing.

"You made him an orphan, Sam." John snarled.

"I didn't kill you!" Sam exclaimed. "You asked me to, _ordered_ me to, but I. Didn't. Kill. You."

"You brought me the stuff I needed to call the demon." John pointed out.

"I DIDN'T KNOW!" Sam cried.

Suddenly John was closer to Sam, practically in his face, moving unnaturally fast.

"It doesn't make you feel less guilty, does it? Knowing now?" John seethed. "The Demon would never have come after us if it wasn't for you. You did this to our family."

Sam's chin trembled, tears flowing unbidden as his frayed sense of self wavered. His head ached too much and he was too tired to fight. Besides, John was right. The second he acknowledged that, a ray of relief cut through his feverish brain. Sam was so grateful for the reprieve that his tears intensified.

"I didn't mean to." Sam sniffed. "I'm sorry."

John retreated a bit, his gaze sharp as a blade as it tore through Sam's walls to gauge Sam's sincerity. However, he seemed sad when he spoke again.

"Then you know what you had to do." John whispered, glancing pointedly at Bobby's glove compartment.

Sam followed his father's gaze and glimpsed a black metallic object at the bottom. His hand crawled inside the compartment automatically and closed way too comfortably around the butt of a gun. Repressing a shiver, Sam slid his eyes to John's.

"Is this what you want me to do, Dad? You want me to kill myself?" Sam asked in a frail voice.

"No, this is what _you_ want, Sam." John answered. "I'm just giving you my blessing."

The chuckle that rasped in Sam's throat had no joy in it, but the sick calm that wrapped around his heart was undeniable. Sam wasn't stupid or too far gone to ignore that his father was dead and that the man in front of him was only a hallucination, but John's words rang true. Sam had been wondering why he was still alive, and the answer was Dean. His brother had held onto Sam with all he had, telling him in all possible ways that he wouldn't go on if Sam fell.

"_Sam, if you jump off that roof, I'm jumping right after you, you know that, right?"_

Sam would never get his brother's permission to let go. So maybe it was true that, somehow, he had searched for his leave in the higher ranks. But then why couldn't Sam stop thinking about Dean?

"Gahh." Sam moaned, clutching at his head with the gun in his grasp. The barrel was cold and rough against his temple.

"You keep fighting it." John muttered disapprovingly.

And _oh, yeah_. Didn't Sam know that tone.

"Leave me alone." He snapped.

"Your mother died for you and then your girlfriend too. Dean was ready to go to Hell for you!" John snarled, his voice raising with every word.

"He shouldn't have done it." Sam argued. "I didn't-"

"Everybody is ready to sacrifice but you, Sammy. You just kill, kill and kill."

"That's not…" Sam paused as a pain-filled wheeze broke his voice.

"Even when it was your time to sacrifice, you chickened out." John accused him.

"That's not true! I _wanted_ it to be _me_." Sam shouted.

"Instead, you killed Matthew." John said viciously.

"Fuck him. _Fuck him_, he didn't stay in the fucking circle!" Sam cried, frustration getting the best of him.

"Do you realize how many times Dean could have died when you left to live your apple pie life, without having you at his back?" John hissed.

"SHUT UP!" Sam cried.

Before realizing what he was doing, Sam trained the gun on his father. John raised an eyebrow at his son's shaky threat.

"Are you going to kill your own father, kid?" John challenged with a snort. "Haven't we had enough of Greek drama already?"

"You're not real" Sam gritted out.

John appraised his son solemnly. All of a sudden, the older man's image wavered and reality shifted between them. The gun appeared in John's hand ―or was it Sam's?― and the barrel was pointed between Sam's eyes.

"Then pull the trigger." John said darkly. "Make me disappear."

Sam blinked at the black, deadly hole that promised peace and silence at last. Then he looked past the gun and into his father's eyes. Sam wished so badly to have had the chance to say goodbye to him.

_Can't we just not fight, Sam?_

John stared back at him, solid and confident as Sam remembered him. The disdain of his gaze had vanished, and John's eyes shimmered with warm, vast love. It reached Sam in places where only scars lived since his little family had begun to fall apart. The liberation was right there, within his reach. It tickled the tip of his fingers over the trigger, as if it was the gun that caressed him instead of the other way around.

"Do it, baby" Jess' voice whispered hotly in Sam's ear. "Do it and we'll be free."

Sam's breath stuttered and his finger trembled on the trigger. He tried to think of Dean, but it was like trying to lift a weight with a broken arm; his mind simply refused to let him, too tired of hurting. Sam didn't remember closing his eyes, but the darkness was soothing: a last intimate moment to share with Jess.

BANG!

The blast made Sam jolt. He opened his eyes, startled and disoriented, to find the driver's seat empty. The echo of the trunk lid being slammed closed rang in Sam ears, and reality came crashing back to him in a nauseating tornado of sensations. Bobby's grunt somewhere in the back of the car, the weight of the gun on his sweaty hands and the oppressive absence of oxygen around him. Sam let go of the weapon with a muffled cry, and scrambled back further in the seat, trying to get as far away as possible from the spot John had just been. When his back found the passenger door, Sam blindly reached behind, unlocked the door and all but crashed into the dirt.

"Sam?"

Sam had barely gotten himself to his feet when a wave of vertigo overcame him and his head imploded.

"Sam!"

Sam lurched at the hands that held him as his legs disappeared underneath him. Somehow, he landed against the side of the car and slid down to the ground. He sat there, his chest heaving in soundless, overwhelmed sobs. His sight was slowly clearing and his ears popped open amidst the monster headache that pulsed inside his temples.

"Sam, say something, dammit!" Bobby's urgent voice finally sank in.

Sam stared dazedly at his old friend, taking in Bobby's drawn features, rimmed with fresh smears of dirt. Bobby's strong hands hovered over Sam, his arms muddy. All those details washed over Sam, but didn't stick. His lungs were working overtime, and the best Sam could articulate was a miserable groan.

"Hey, take it easy." Bobby coaxed. "Deep breaths or you're going to pass out."

Sam thumped his head back against the car, his jaw clenched to try to hold his breath and control the rapid hitching of his chest. His lungs burned as he exhaled with a ragged sound.

"Oh, Jesus." Sam panted.

It was a reflexive gesture to grab Bobby's arms to anchor himself, but the older man flinched when he did. As Sam's mind cleared, he noticed the shock in Bobby's expression, his eyes locked on their interlaced arms.

"You… Sam? Are you okay?" Bobby asked fearfully.

Sam mind reeled, a knot tightening the pit of his stomach as he noticed the blessed silence inside his brain.

"Yes… I'm fine." He whispered shakily. "God, Bobby… i-it's gone."

Bobby studied him warily. "What do you mean?"

A sudden wave of urgency pulsed through Sam's veins, and the young hunter pushed Bobby away and scrambled to his feet.

"Sam, what's going on?" Bobby asked, worry taking hold of his tone.

"He's done something!" Sam exclaimed. "Dean!"

Bobby froze, still trying to comprehend, until something seemed to click in his brain. Slowly, he brought a hand to his chest and felt under his shirt.

"Son of a… that damn idiot!" He cursed.

"What?" Sam demanded.

"He took my key." Bobby growled. "The key to the panic room."

Sam felt his blood go cold.

"We gotta hurry."

* * *

**TBC!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Well, last chapter! I hope you guys enjoy it. Thank you for reading and reviewing so far. I hope we'll read each other again soon!**

**Megan, my angel of the flow...Gracias :)**

* * *

_**Unleashed Fury**_

**XI**

"It's done." Alec announced softly.

Dean released a shaky breath, closing his eyes as the ground wavered under him. Needing to hear Sam's voice, Dean's first impulse was to call his brother and make sure he was really okay, but he couldn't find his cell.

_Great__._

If he couldn't check in, he would have no guarantee that the Furies had met their end of the deal, but trusting their word was the only thing he could do. He feared that if he hesitated, Alec and the others would find a way to attack Sam again. Besides, Dean was a man of honor, and he wasn't going to be the one to back down. His determination didn't keep him from thinking of Bobby for a guilty second as he turned the key in the lock. His old friend had tried to make him promise that he wouldn't do anything stupid, and he had been obviously referring to something exactly like this. Somehow, Dean kept letting Bobby down in that department, especially when Sam was involved.

Hopefully, at some point Bobby would understand.

The door let out a metallic shriek when Dean pushed it closed behind him. He held his gun loosely at his side, although he knew that the weapon wasn't going to save him. At least it was something familiar to hang onto. Maybe he could even manage to take one of the Furies down with him, so that nobody else would suffer under their spell.

But first things first: he had gone in there for a reason and one reason alone. "It's done", Alec had said. And Dean had to believe him.

He looked up at the three people trapped in the bunker, took in their disheveled appearances and their stone-cold expressions. Alec was protectively positioned in front of the girls, Trisha stood a couple of feet behind him with a defiant expression, as she subtly owned the space at Alec's back. A hungry looking Megan lurked inside her radius. All of them had seen Dean's gun, but none of them acknowledged it.

"So," Dean drawled, "who's going to do it?"

Dean would never know if they had discussed it beforehand, or whether the freaks communicated telepathically. But Trisha stepped forwards without sharing a single look with her siblings, and her action seemed as natural as a river flowing. Dean gulped as the first flicker of fear lit inside his gut. His resolve though, remained steely and sending a last thought to Sam, Dean focused on Trisha's emerald eyes.

"Bring it on, sister." Dean growled. "You've wanted this all along."

Trisha ghosted a feral smile as she latched her gaze onto Dean's. The hunter didn't know what to expect and was surprised by a sudden head rush. It felt as if the air in the room had become solid and was pushing his skull inwards.

"Oh, Jesus." Trisha gasped.

Shock, horror and some kind of pleasure mixed in her tone and Dean smiled, almost chuckled at it. The vast darkness inside him had stunned a monster like her, and it was a bittersweet sensation realizing how right he had been about the extent of his crimes. But Trisha recognized her kind, and after the first moment of surprise, Dean felt a nauseating pull towards her. Skin crawling, Dean locked his knees and resisted Trisha instinctively.

The pain was so sharp and sudden that Dean almost folded to the ground. Dean bit back a yelp as his hands shot to his temples, unprepared for the white hot sensation that pierced his brain. His ears filled with static, as if too many voices were trying to drill their way into him at the same time. Dean tried reflexively to block them, but the vicious pounding of his head doubled in intensity and this time Dean couldn't repress a moan.

"Don't fight it, remember?" Alec told him gently.

Dean moaned again, his breath becoming shallower as the pressure outside _and_ inside his head turned the world white. Despite the fact that Dean knew better, Alec's voice was like a lifeline, a friend lending a hand through an attack, and Dean followed it through the noise. Little by little, the clamor cleared and a dozen voices broke down into whispers.

_Why me?_

_Murderer_.

_You were supposed to save me…_

_Please!_

_You have to pay for this._

_I wasn't a monster…_

You_ are._

Dean's knees faltered and he stumbled back, jarring his shoulder against the wall. The gun shook in his hand and Dean unconsciously tightened his grasp on it. He recognized each one of the voices, even the ones he had believed long forgotten. Marshall dying in in his place; Layla, soon after that. Meg, just an innocent girl. John, handing himself over for him.

Lillian, all over him, screaming as she died over and over again in front of Dean's eyes.

_How could you?_

"Oh, God." Dean gasped, suffocating in regret. "God, I'm sorry."

The Furies surrounded him predatorily, but Dean barely registered. He glimpsed Trisha and Megan holding each other in a languid embrace, while Alec kept his eyes locked on Dean in morbid fascination. The three of them flowed into each other dizzyingly, like a dance.

_Do it._

Dean jumped when he felt a couple of tiny hands wrapping around his and gazed down, only to find Lillian's young's eyes peering up at him.

"Sir?" She whimpered and her eyes filled up with tears. "It hurts…"

Horrified, Dean realized that her middle was bleeding, and quickly knelt to try and stop the hemorrhage, but Lillian vanished in his hands.

"Lillian…" Dean called out.

She reappeared a few feet away from Dean, but her expression was different. Her gaze was distant, face aghast, as a familiar light washed over her.

"Lillian, no!" Dean cried.

The girl flicked him a terrified look before a screeching sound mingled with her scream. Dean closed his eyes, trying to block the haunting flashback, but had to open them again when his head throbbed mercilessly. Lillian was at his feet, in a tangled mess of broken bones and bleeding wounds.

"No." Dean whispered, his hands helplessly hovering over the fragile body as Lillian looked at him with blood-shot, accusatory eyes.

"Why, Sir?"

"I'm sorry…Lillian." Dean whimpered.

Lillian raised a trembling hand and closed her fingers around Dean's. He shivered at her cold skin, feeling the weight of the gun pressing into his palm. With Lillian filling up every bit of his conscience, Dean's grip on the gun was his only firm connection left with reality. Outside of it, there was only guilt. Dazed, Dean straightened up and staggered back, or maybe forward. He couldn't be sure. He couldn't care less.

_End it._

Dean's stomach rolled as he felt himself falling into a bottomless pit. All the souls he had ripped waited for him there, hungry for revenge.

_Deliver us!_

Dean had trapped them in there, it was his fault. And now every single cell in Dean's body screamed for release. He was reckless, stupid and absolutely unworthy of so many sacrifices. His life was the only fair price to honor them and let them rest in peace. There was too much blood on his hands, _everywhere_. He was drowning in it. And it kind of felt nice. Just like everybody said, drowning was like falling asleep, becoming wrapped in silence.

And suddenly it all shifted again. Dean's brain expanded, as if he had crashed against the bottom of a cliff and his brains had spilled on the ground. Oxygen left him in a rush and the abrupt commotion buzzed inside his head and crawled inside his veins, constraining and pulling at every nerve. Something was going on in the panic room, the girls were screaming and Alec sounded furious, but Dean couldn't make out the words that were tossed back and forth. He recognized Bobby's voice though, as booming and authoritative as his father's. Confused, he distantly saw John's friend throwing something onto the floor, and the rotten stench of death enveloped Dean. He glimpsed a yellowish skull, with dusty locks of hair precariously attached to it and tangle of bones with tattered clothes hanging from them.

"You're done here." Bobby growled.

The Furies' shock passed onto Dean and the latter felt their pain as his soul was ripped away. A choked sound left his lips as he tried to raise the gun, only to find that he was pinned with his chest to the wall. Dean tensed and buckled, his senses rebelling against being trapped.

"Dean."

Opening his eyes, Dean struggled to focus his blurry gaze, but nausea crept to his throat with a vengeance and his legs all but disappeared under him. An arm sneaked around his waist and held on, steadying him.

_Sammy?_

"Let it go."

Sam's voice was calm and soft next to Dean's ear. His little brother was the one pinning him to the wall, his huge frame flush against Dean's back. Dean tried to say something but his mind was jumbled and nothing coherent came out.

"Dean?" His little brother called out in an unthreatening tone, "Let it go."

Sam punctuated his words with a soft squeeze of Dean's hand. The younger kept Dean's arm bent and immobilized at his back, in a firm but painless hold.

It was the hand that still held the gun.

"C'mon," the younger encouraged.

Dean felt his eyes blur, but for different reason altogether. As his head grew clearer, the hole in his stomach became heavier, and a sensation of void like he had never experienced crushed him from the inside out. The worst part was that although Dean knew what Sam was asking from him, his fingers wouldn't respond. Dean didn't want to relinquish the hard found way to put an end to his nightmares and the screaming inside his head. No more pain, ever again, and _God_... how much he craved that.

"Dean?" Sam insisted, unrelentingly, despite his big brother's attempts to forget his own name.

Sam's warm hand wrapped tighter around Dean's, and the elder realized that he was unconsciously struggling against Sam's hold. As Dean finally regained his orientation, other sounds started to filter through his ears. Someone was sobbing in the room and Dean's lungs clenched in response. But it wasn't Layla, it wasn't Lillian. It wasn't him.

"Get your brother out of here, Sam." Bobby ordered.

Sam nodded against the back of Dean's neck, a gesture directed at Bobby, although his focus remained entirely on Dean.

"Please." Sam whispered. "Give it to me."

Sam's hand was practically inside Dean's by then and the younger could probably have wrenched the gun from him if he had wanted to. However, Sam seemed to want Dean to let him take it. He didn't realize what he was asking from Dean.

And how unfair was it that Dean couldn't deny his brother anything?

"Sammy…" Dean pleaded miserably, even as he allowed his fingers to loosen up.

Sam's chest pressed even harder against Dean's back as his lungs expanded in a deep breath. Gently, the younger man removed the gun from Dean's limp fingers and it vanished from Dean's sight. The sense of loss was devastating for Dean, and his legs buckled.

"You're okay." Sam soothed him, his voice next to Dean's ear as his arms tightened around his waist and took more weigh. "I got you."

His brother's embrace unraveled something inside Dean and he came apart so fast his sight blurred. He distantly felt Sam pulling him away from the wall and dragging him somewhere. The last glimpse Dean dazedly took in of the panic room revealed Bobby's broad back and Alec, Trisha and Megan huddled together in one corner, their expressions catatonic as they stared at a corpse on the floor. The putrid smell short-circuited in Dean's stomach and he gagged, his muscles jumping in an involuntary spasm.

"Hang on." Sam shushed.

Sam pushed him upstairs, relentless in his haste to take Dean as far away as the panic room as possible, and Dean stumbled drunkenly in his brother's hold. The older balked at Sam's gentleness and arms around his back, Why did Sam insisted on holding him together when all Dean wanted was to fall apart? Dean's chest seized and he felt like he couldn't breathe. If only Sam would let go of him, Dean could suffocate in peace.

_Where is my gun?_

Abruptly, the stone floor changed to wood under Dean's clumsy feet. Light hurt his eyes as soon as they crossed the basement doorstep and Dean whimpered as his head gave a particularly merciless throb. Pushing Sam away on impulse, he fell on his hands and knees with a throaty grunt.

"Dean?" Sam said from somewhere over him, his tone concerned and warm.

Dean crawled over the black hole that threatened to swallow him whole, with no real sense of direction but a vague, masochistic need to get away from the only person that could make thinks okay. He advanced until a kitchen cabinet stopped his progress, and he slumped against it and pressed his knees to his chest, knowing that this was it, he was done. At the very lease it was warmer than the basement and it felt good. Maybe if he let the warmth seep into his bones the chills would subside.

Unconsciously he wrapped his arms tighter around himself. The last few minutes still swirled inside his mind and it was hard to make sense of what part was him and what part was beyond his control. Dean needed to order his thoughts for a second, take a real breath and break himself out of the crazy loop. But it was cold and Dean couldn't think; and if he couldn't think, he couldn't revert to his counting drill. That left him more alone than ever, as he fumbled for any shadow of control he could grasp.

Dean wasn't alone, though. Sam was still there. It was Sam that gently wrapped a small blanket around Dean's back and then backed off, respecting his big brother's self-created bubble. The anchoring weight over his shoulders made Dean snap out of his trance a little, and his hands clutched at the fabric automatically as he peered up at Sam. From Dean's position, his little brother seemed even more of a giant, and the sight brought a lump to Dean's throat.

"Sam?" Dean asked in an anxious whisper, swallowing convulsively to keep tears from overflowing.

Sam shot him a fleeting glance, but didn't try to hold Dean's gaze. The younger was at the sink, filling up a glass. While he was half giving Dean his back and Dean couldn't see Sam's eyes under all that hair, Sam looked fine. It was the edge Dean needed to slow his heartbeat down. He still needed to look into Sam's eyes to fully convince himself, maybe even talk to him if he could manage to find his voice. The truth was that Dean's throat felt raspy as if he had been screaming, but he _couldn't_ remember if he had. The most he could wish was that Sam hadn't heard him.

The one thing he wanted was for his brother to tell him that it was okay.

Sam crouched before him and handed him the glass of water, waiting patiently until Dean understood that he was supposed to take it.

"Drink slowly." Sam ordered flatly.

Dean pursed his lips, weirdly chastised at Sam's tone. Sam was mad, Dean got it. He wasn't about to deny that Sam had a reason to be pissed at him. But Dean couldn't deal with Sam's anger right now, because his own emotions were too close to the surface and the slightest breeze would make him blow over. So he _didn't_ deal. He simply sipped his water, relishing its coolness as it flowed down his parched throat and settled nicely in his stomach. If only had it had been whiskey, life would have started to make sense again.

Sam sat down against the cabinets next to his brother and pulled his knees half-way to his chest at a ninety degree angle from Dean's huddled frame. As he sipped his own glass of water, Sam radiated tension and Dean could read the storm hidden behind his silence, but Sam's mere presence was soothing in a way Dean wouldn't dream to define. Though his little brother was angry, Sam kept close to him, their knees brushing, and the concern that shone across Sam's elusive expression was as unmistakable as his firm tenderness when dragging Dean out of the panic room.

"Sammy." Dean muttered again, almost involuntarily. Like an invocation.

The younger slid his gaze to him, hazel pupils moist and hard at the same time. Slowly, Sam set his glass on the floor, without releasing his eyes from Dean's. The older hunter felt like a bug under a callous, unforgiving microscope.

"Tell me you didn't go in there and exchanged yourself for me." Sam demanded flatly.

The bluntness of the request wasn't as unexpected as it was disarming. Dean exhaled a tired sigh and looked down. Even if lying had been an option, he didn't have the strength or the will to antagonize Sam.

"You're such an idiot." Sam hissed with a shake of his head.

Dean remained silent. Adrenaline had left his battered body and soul and all that was left of him was a mess of wrecked walls that wouldn't hold against a confrontation with his righteously pissed little brother.

He really needed a drink.

"What were you thinking, going up against them alone?" Sam pushed.

Sam was starting to sound slightly less bitchy, but more intense, as if understanding the puzzle that was Dean's mind really mattered to him. The older let out a light chuckle at the thought, but the laugh ballooned inside his throat and he had to bit his lip, so that his chin wouldn't tremble.

"You did the same thing at Alec's house." He countered mutedly.

Dean wasn't trying to get defensive, rather state a fact. But his words got through to Sam like an arrow pointed to his heart. The younger's eyes widened and misted, as his jaw set in a tight, snappy line. If he had replied right away, Sam would have probably chewed Dean a new one, but he didn't. Instead, Sam studied his brother for a long moment and when he finally spoke, his tone was quiet and only the slightest trace of annoyance laced his words.

"So is this the game we're going to play? Is it my turn now?" Sam asked.

"No!" Dean growled at knee-jerk speed, pinning his sibling with a hard glare.

As final and big-brotherly he had wanted to sound, even Dean himself could hear the tremble of fearful anguish in his reaction as the memory of Sam writhing in pain overcame him. It had been the sole idea of losing Sam that had taken them to the place they were now. It would always take them to the same point.

It would never get better.

Sam regarded him with an arched eyebrow, reading into Dean even better than the Furies had. Only, Sam's intrusion was gentle, not vicious.

"I thought we had agreed that we were done with deals." Sam whispered sadly.

The crazy flutter inside Dean's gut solidified into a ragged-edged rock that tore at the frail grip he was keeping on his composure. Sam was speaking in the same wretched tone that had mingled with the rest of voices inside Dean's mind in the panic room. Sam's gaze, young and demanding. His Sammy, staring at him accusingly, as he screamed _You left me alone_. Dean's breath caught and he glued his eyes to his knees, unconsciously trying to isolate himself as Sam gaze burned holes at the vicinity of his forehead.

"Boys?"

Bobby's voice outside the kitchen made Dean cringe and he wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. Sam's head snapped up and he got to his feet, causing Dean's heart to stutter. Cold seized Dean again as soon as Sam left his side. Looking up to track his little brother's moves was an automatic reaction, like withdrawing a hand from the fire when you got burnt. Or maybe not; maybe he didn't want to keep Sam in sight so much as see him leave once and for all. Sam should get away from a life that meant death and only death and away from a brother who kept hurting him over and over again. If Dean had learned something through the years, it was that withdrawing your hand didn't fix a damn thing, so you may as well leave it in the flames and watch it blister, peel and disintegrate until pain itself burnt away with it.

Sometimes Dean felt like he was already a ghost, burnt to ashes like the ones they hunted and chased by the phantom of the wounds that he had inflicted in his lifetime.

But Sammy didn't leave. He stayed at the doorstep and spoke in hushed tones with Bobby. Dean couldn't see the older hunter from his position nor catch the words that he and his brother exchanged. He swallowed hard, expecting them to fly from the kitchen any second. Did they know? All the things he had done? There was a reason why the Furies' attack had been so brutal on him. How could they even look at him in the eye after everything?

As if Sam sensed his thoughts, the youngest Winchester turned to Dean and gazed directly into his eyes. Something shifted in Sam's expression, and a troubled frown installed itself on his forehead, but when Dean tried to focus on him, Sam's image blurred.

_No… don't cry, c'mon. Don't you cry!_

The elder swallowed the burning sobs that collected in his throat and wiped at his eyes almost angrily, humiliated that Sam and Bobby were seeing him in such an unstable condition. A minute later, a soft click announced that Sam had closed the door and when Dean looked up, he found that it was only the two of them again.

_Sammy…_

This time Sam sat down beside him and Dean couldn't help but lean a couple of inches towards his little brother until the warmth of Sam's side filtered into his own skin and Dean's soul stopped shivering. Neither said anything for a long while, the silence companionable and healing. It was as if time had slowed down, and Dean's pulse calmed to match the gentle tick of seconds passing.

"Who was the body you brought into the panic room?" Dean asked when he thought he could trust his voice again.

Sam shifted a little. "Eric, the man who raped Angela." He replied, his tone uncomfortable.

Dean glanced at Sam with a hint of surprise. "How did you figure that out?"

The younger ducked his head shyly. "I just…" Sam frowned and gave a light shrug. "They couldn't be stopped and _wouldn't_ stop until they found him. So I thought I'd bring him to them. If their mission was over, maybe they would just leave us alone."

"But if he had been dead all this time, why were they still after him?" Dean questioned.

"They were human. Just kids who didn't know what they were looking for." Sam said softly. "I guess I thought that…maybe they just didn't know he was dead."

Dean considered his brother and found that it made an odd kind of sense. Probably, if he had been up to par, he would have thought of that sooner.

"Good thinking, Sammy." He congratulated him, without hiding his pride.

Sam smiled his thanks wearily, as if it were nothing. As if the boy hadn't just saved Dean's life. Dean nodded his own gratitude to his brother, and clapped Sam's knee. His Sasquatch anchor let his own hand fall absently over Dean's wrist. And though it probably seemed corny, Dean couldn't bring himself to let go, and Sam seemed content to let his big brother cling while they both took a long overdue moment to themselves.

If it hadn't been for Sam's worried squeeze of his arm, Dean wouldn't have realized he had begun to cry.

He sensed Sam shifting and felt one of his brother's huge hands on his bicep, while the other brushed feather-light across his back.

"Dean..." Sam started in a sympathetic voice.

"Sam, no." Dean growled. Because, _damn_, it was stupid to cry when everything was over. "Just... don't."

Sam didn't. He just placed his hand on Dean's neck and allowed his gesture to convey all that Dean didn't want to hear. The _It's okay. _The _You can cry. _The_ I'm here. _Dean could deny the words, but he couldn't refute Sam's steadying presence by his side, the soothing, almost distracted motions of Sam's thumb over his hairline or the grounding hand Sam kept on his arm. Sam was with him in all the ways that mattered. All the ways he could be.

And that broke Dean so completely that his following words tasted of awe and horror in the back of his throat.

"Sammy, I wanted to die." Dean whispered.

He couldn't even look at Sam as he said it, so full of shame he thought he would drown on it. His little brother froze, the soothing motions coming to a halt, and Dean closed his eyes and held his uneven breath for a second that felt longer than life.

"It was the Furies, man." Sam affirmed.

Sam squeezed Dean's neck reassuringly, as he spoke. Possessively, even, in a way that rang as true as Dean's fear, but with a contradictory force.

"No, it wasn't." Dean shook his head, frustrated that Sam didn't, or wouldn't, get it. "I wanted to kill myself when they were already down. Even when the voices were gone I wanted... I needed... the only thing I could think of was ending it all." Dean blubbered brokenly. "God, what the fuck is wrong with me?"

Sam tightened his grip on Dean and remained silent as his big brother teetered on the edge of an emotional breakdown. Dean was getting overwhelmed, and needed to escape so badly that his whole body tingled.

_Escape _where_, Dean?_

He was trapped, the room was shrinking and he was starting to wheeze. In tune, Sam backed away slightly to give him room to breathe.

"Nothing's wrong with you, man." Sam replied firmly, chasing Dean's gaze with his own.

Did Sam realize how hilarious that sounded? Dean was a step away from having a damn meltdown, for God's sake, and Sam was telling him there was nothing wrong with him?

"It was still them, Dean." Sam insisted. "Their spell doesn't work like a switch. Rather it... _fades_." Sam tried to explain. "It takes a while, okay? But you are going to be alright."

Dean nodded dubiously―about ready to believe anything that would make him feel better― and concentrated on reining in his nerves, by focusing on Sam's tired features and his bright eyes. It marveled and humbled Dean that his little brother had been able to resist so much pain for two days and still find the strength to devise a plan and save _his_ ass. In the meantime, what had Dean done? He had downright panicked, that was all.

"You alright?" He asked Sam, his voice raspy.

The younger's lips hinted a smile and he averted his eyes. "Yeah...I'm…better." Sam grimaced and reformulated candidly. "I'm getting there." Dean narrowed his eyes on Sam, just as the younger searched Dean's gaze again and added. "You saved my life."

Dean let out an amused snort.

_Yeah, right._

"I mean it, dude. I was... Dad was there and I..." Sam paused and took a steadying breath before continuing. "I was pointing a gun at my head when the voices stopped." He admitted. "If it hadn't been for you... I would have…"

"God, Sam..." Dean muttered, the image of his little brother pointing a weapon at himself breaking icily through his tenuous reserves.

Sam quickly shook his head and amended: "It's okay. I _am _okay. It's over now."

Sam's words were supposed to be encouraging, his tone earnest and the reassurance clear in his voice. But, unexpectedly, it was those words that undid Dean, burying themselves in the elder's heart like daggers. The pressure inside Dean's chest bubbled up, his stomach constricting as a lifetime of memories bled out of him too fast for Dean to be able to keep the tears from rolling free. He tried to swallow them down but it was suffocating, and his breath shattered around the sob caught inside his throat.

"But it's not. It's not o-over." Dean cried in a thready voice. "It's _never_ going to be over."

It was the truth. It was what he had been trying to shield his little brother from by tearing himself apart and letting Sam go all those months ago. And it was all he could say before falling apart before Sam's eyes. The younger's expression fell, his pain reflecting Dean's own in a flashing recognition that proved that they were brothers. And that Dean had failed.

It was the last thing Dean saw clearly before burying his head in his arms, as sorrow flooded his senses and he choked on the bundle of phantom wounds and old scars he had become. Dean felt naked, laid bare and thin inside a tempest that wouldn't abate. The pain was always familiar, hovering on the sidelines of a life of constant danger. Always pain. _Sammy's_ pain.

Sometimes it was too much. Sometimes, Dean just _couldn't _do it.

_Hunting things. The family business_

It would have been way easier if he had hated the life; if Dean could curse and rebel against how inescapable and unfair it was. If Dean could blame his father or dream of normal and safe and _monsters are not real_, then he might want to be free of all of it. After all, her mother was avenged, John rested in peace and Sammy was alive.

_There has to be something you want for yourself, Dean_

Dean sucked in a hiccupping breath as he struggled for oxygen, but it wasn't coming. And as his whole sense of right and wrong, of hope and duty rebelled against him, it felt as if he had never escaped the panic room. Maybe he had imagined Sam and everything else. Maybe he was already dead and this was the Hell Dean had thought he had dodged.

"Shhh."

Sam's soft, comforting whisper washed over the cracking pieces of Dean's awareness in gentle waves. The older sibling could barely focus beyond the hitching sobs that were making his chest burn, but survival had him clutching at the sound of Sam's quiet presence; like the rest of the times Dean had broken down on him and there had been nothing to say or do other than to wait it out. Sam rested a warm hand on Dean's knee and the other over Dean's bowed head. Little by little, so as to make sure that he was accepted into Dean's space, Sam gently rested his chin on the top of his brother's head and stilled, his embrace loose and undemanding. It was almost a negotiation, in which Sam's steady presence coaxed Dean's despair-bunched muscles to let him take some of the tension, and Dean resisted, because it was all he knew how to do.

_Suck it up. Move on. And don't cry. Don't you _ever_ cry_.

Dean let out an undefined sound, dark and broken like a laugh gone wrong and Sam's hold tightened subtly in reaction. Sam probably thought that unless he wrapped himself around his older brother securely enough, Dean would spill like sand through his fingers. And that was exactly how Dean felt.

_Please, don't let go_

Sometimes life was too much. Sometimes it wasn't nearly enough. But Sam's heart fluttered warmly against Dean's ear, the door was closed and, God, _just this once_, he could let his guard down. He needed a break, Dean told himself, a safe place to catch his breath, and he would be okay. Because _s__aving people_ was the life he had chosen and he wasn't backing away. Even though the profound need to give up was overwhelming, Dean couldn't stand the idea of trading a single life he could potentially save for all the peace of eternity. It wasn't selflessness, masochism, or any of that crap. It was simply what made Dean happy, despite how hard it got at times. With the life he led, it was a miracle he only toyed with the idea of throwing in the towel once in a while.

It kind of meant Dean was strong. Or that was what Sam would say. Even if right now, Dean felt like the weakest person on Earth.

"Sammy, I… I didn't m-mean to…" Dean hiccupped. "I don't… I don't really w-want…"

Sam nodded against the top of his brother's head. "I know."

Sam's tone was calm, but Dean had always known when Sammy was crying,

"I'm sorry." Dean croaked, letting his hands fall from his protective position over his head and leaning his forehead against Sam's collarbone.

Sam shook his head and pulled away from his brother, leveling Dean a sober gaze. "No, don't apologize." He demanded sternly. "Not for that. Not to me. Ever, okay?"

Dean swallowed hard, thrown by the intensity of Sam's request and dizzy with the need to accept his brother's forgiveness. His brain still throbbed against his temples and his thoughts were syrupy from too little sleep and too much grief. Dean found himself nodding out of pure exhaustion as he leaned back against the cabinet. Sam sat next to him, stupidly glued to his brother's side, pulled his long legs to his chest and let his head fall on his arms.

"Man… I need a drink." Sam mumbled.

And just like that, Dean cracked up. Maybe laughing was an unnatural thing to do after everything, but all things considered, hilarity felt like the most natural _why the fuck not? _emotionto abandon himself to. It was worth it when Sam's lips curved into a tired smile and laughing together spent the lingering moisture behind their eyelids.

"We're fucked up, huh?" Dean muttered.

"Beyond repair." Sam answered without losing a beat.

It was a worrying truth, but Dean simply huffed a last, companionable laugh.

"Yeah." Dean closed his eyes and relaxed against the wooden surface at his back.

Having Sam close felt good, the warmth of his nearness soothing beyond any promise of rest. As Dean's pulse calmed down, the sharp clutches of despair that had taunted him before receded into that private place behind his heart only his soul mate kept safe.

"You know, you and I..." Sam mused aloud. "We'll see this to the end."

Dean swiveled his head towards his brother, aware that despite the distant quality of Sam's voice, he was talking to him.

"I don't know how, I don't know when, but I know we will." Sam said fervently. Then, he smiled and met his brother's eyes, his voice dropping as if he was sharing a secret. "And it'll be a good end."

Dean's chest grew tight again and he had to bit on his lip to swallow around the lump locked inside his throat. He didn't ask Sam how he could be so sure of it, but he heard clearly what Sam hadn't said. What he really meant.

_We go together._

Dean wanted to protest, his whole essence rebelling at the idea, because, no matter what, he was Sam's older brother and he'd always try to go first. However, at that moment _together_ sounded right. _Together_ was the only good end Dean could imagine and, selfish as it was, both siblings had had a taste of what would feel like losing the other, and none of them seemed willing to go down that road again.

"Okay." Dean caved, patting Sam's chest in a sideways smack. "Okay."

* * *

Dean Winchester woke up slowly. He felt hung over and it took him a while to drag himself back to the land of light and sound. He was at Bobby's, bundled inside a sleeping bag on his friend's floor. The morning was bright and warm, sunrays spilling lazily through the dusty windows, and Dean indulged himself and lingered in his cocoon a few minutes longer. He wasn't really sleeping, but he wasn't ready to cut the ties with the first real night of rest he had had in ages. Eventually though, burying his sluggish thoughts under the pillow begun to lose its appeal against taking a long, hot, cleansing shower.

Stretching his limbs lazily, the older Winchester sat up, his senses dulled as if he was moving underwater. He startled when something bumped against his arm and a sleepy groan came from his right side. As Dean turned bleary eyes in that direction, he couldn't fight the smile that tugged the corner of his lips up. Sam was curled impossibly small on the old couch, right next to Dean's sleeping bag. His arm dangled limply off the edge of the cushion. Apparently, Sam had been resting his hand on Dean's shoulder in his slumber.

Dean sighed, the thought of cheapening Sam's unconscious need of contact with some joke never crossing his mind. Given the state they had been in the previous night, it was a miracle they hadn't ended up mashed together in the couch _or_ the sleeping bag, like the times they had felt most vulnerable during their childhood.

And, _oh man_... Didn't Sam look young and vulnerable right now.

"D'n...?" Sam mumbled, barely opening his eyes.

"It's okay." Dean replied softly, taking Sam's arm and gently placing it on top of the blanket. "Go back to sleep."

Sam's brow furrowed a little, but he settled again after a few seconds. Dean waited a minute to make sure that his brother was out, and then staggered to the bathroom. Sam wouldn't sleep much longer, now that he knew on some level of conscienceness that Dean wasn't next to him anymore, but the promise of enjoying a few minutes of tiled-isolated bliss was a strong pull to Dean's heart.

And it felt absolutely fantastic.

Dean wouldn't say he had emerged a new man or anything that cliché, but the truth was that his head felt clearer than it had been in weeks and he was almost relaxed. Hearing Sam and Bobby talk companionably in the kitchen lifted another weight off his shoulders. The absence of the crushing pressure Dean had grown accustomed to bearing had him almost floating as he walked towards the echo of the chattering and the smell of coffee.

"Look at that, Julia Child! New apron? Who would have said you would grow beard, Jules." Dean saluted Bobby, as he stepped into the kitchen scratching idly at the damp hair of the back of his head.

The glare the gruff hunter shot him rivaled the heat of the stove Bobby was planted at. Sam raised his head the second Dean appeared within sight and smiled around a caffeinated gulp as Dean brushed his shoulder _good-morning_ when he passed behind the younger sibling.

"Good morning to you too, sleeping beauty." Bobby grumbled. "Don't push it, or there will be no coffee for you."

As a threat, it would have been more effective if Bobby hadn't been already pushing a mug towards him as he spoke. Dean wrapped his hand around the steaming cup and nodded his thanks at Bobby.

"Aaalright, I'll leave you to it and go take a shower." Sam announced, standing up.

"There's shampoo in the cabinet." Bobby told him. "In case your sister here used it all up."

"Hey!" Dean protested.

"He does that, doesn't he? Annoying as hell." Sam answered with a smirk.

Dean threw a crumb at Sam. "Get out of here, you stink." He shot back.

Sam disappeared with an amused snort and Bobby shook his head, although the older hunter couldn't hide his smile under the grumpy pose. The regained ease between the two most important people in Dean's life was something he hadn't dared to dream of. That alone, he thought, was worth all the heartache of the last few days.

"So," Dean started, his tone grave behind the casualness. "Where are they?"

Bobby's hands froze for a split second over the frying pan, but he didn't turn or give any indication that he needed Dean to clarify _who_ he meant.

"Why?" Bobby questioned. Just as casual, but biting in its own way. "You wanna go pay them another visit behind our backs?"

Okay, message understood. Dean grimaced and, in what he hoped was a placating gesture, approached Bobby and contritely deposited the panic room key on the counter.

"I'm sorry."

"The fuck you are." Bobby countered as he reached for the key.

Dean flinched imperceptibly when Bobby spared him a glance that felt like daggers on his chest. Not that Bobby wasn't right: Sam had told Dean that he had been about to blow his head in Bobby's old truck and stopping that was something Dean would never regret. The only thing he was sorry for was the _behind their backs_ part.

"I'm sorry I betrayed your trust." Dean said honestly.

Bobby's glare wavered, but he still held Dean's determined stare until the younger man averted his eyes. Then Bobby huffed a snort and shook his head as if Dean was a stupid runt who didn't get anything at all.

Only, in _that _part he was wrong. Dean understood it alright and Bobby's long-suffering sigh made him want to smile. The only reason that he didn't was because he respected Bobby's concern, something rare for his small family, precious even. And anyhow, their lastest close-call was still too recent to make fun of.

"I let them go." Bobby explained, going back to his cooking. "Their powers seem to be gone, I don't know if they're gone for good or just dormant, and I couldn't keep them locked down there."

"What?" Dean exclaimed, his eyebrows arching towards his hairline. "What if someone invokes them again?"

"I don't know, Dean." Bobby gritted out. "And I don't think we can know for sure. They're just kids. I'll keep an eye on them."

The look Bobby gave Dean was too tired to be defiant, but Dean knew what he meant. Alec, Trisha and Megan were human, screwed up kids on a power high, and they couldn't hurt them. Bobby's chivalry surely made him a better person than Dean was, because if John's older son had thought for a second that killing them would have saved Sam, he would have finished all three of them.

And that was the other thing Bobby was asking from him: for Dean to let it go.

Dean swallowed around unfamiliar taste of that concept. He wasn't the type to hold grudges, except when something _or _someone had hurt Sam. Truth to be told, he had thought about confronting the Furies that morning, face to face at last, and tell them what he thought of them. Maybe go back to Angela's and drop Eric's body on her doorstep, before trashing and burning her damn library of old codex. He had even imagined arguing with his brother about it, the pinched look and squared jaw expression Sam would wear while he tried to dissuade Dean, reasonably at first, then with shrinking patience, until he gave up. Then Dean would manage to keep him from going with him, and bear with his fuming, broody little brother for a few hours, apologize when they got tired of the silence and get on with their lives.

It was scary how long and accurate his mental conversations with Sam could be.

Now Bobby had taken from him the chance to lash out at the prisoners downstairs. Dean still could track them, of course, and he doubted that that bitch Angela had gone anywhere. However, the effort seemed pointless. The young hunter sighed quietly and rolled his shoulders to loosen them up as he looked outside the kitchen window. Damn, is was a _beautiful_ morning. The breeze was cool and whispered through the trees; the cars in the yard glistened, under the radiant sun, its light washing over the world and chasing the shadows away. The serenity of the whole scene was almost surreal. Dean smiled to himself, thinking that the only piece missing was for birds to start chirping.

Everything was beckoning at him to start again and leave the previous months behind. It wasn't a corny, New Age feeling of being reborn from a catharsis. But he had realized that it was true one can only sink and wallow in self-pity up to a point. The point where you had to choose, once and for all, whether you wished to drown or kick your way to the surface.

He had been there, gun in hand.

_Do you want to live? Or do you want to die?_

If you wanted to die, you pulled the trigger. If you wanted to live, then you moved the fuck on and stopped second guessing yourself. The way Dean saw it, it was a decision you could make only once and never back down from it.

"Eat." Bobby's plain command broke into his musings.

Dean blinked at the scrambled eggs and bacon that Bobby had practically placed under his nose, and snorted at his old friend's antics. Despite not feeling particularly hungry, he docilely took the plate to the rickety table and sat down, shooting a distracted glance towards the kitchen door.

"Did Sam eat anything?" Dean asked.

Bobby's incredulous chuckle made Dean return his attention to John's friend.

"I swear you two are the most irritating couple of mother hens I know." Bobby grumbled. And in response to Dean's surprised expression, he added. "_Yes_, he did. _And _he made promise that you'd eat too."

"He doesn't get to boss me around" Dean said in a self-important tone.

"Well, he's bigger than you." Bobby observed with a shrug.

Dean's smile softened, trembling a little as he looked down, "Yeah, that he is." He whispered fondly.

Both hunters fell silent for a few minutes, as Dean picked at his breakfast and Bobby busied himself around the kitchen. The eggs tasted good and Dean could feel his stomach opening tentatively bite after bite.

"Hey," Bobby commented off-handedly. "I've seen you guys have a bump on the fender. I asked Sam if you'd want it fixed before you left. He told me to ask _you_."

Dean chewed slowly the last bit of breakfast he had put into his mouth, unsure if he should swallow after his gut somersaulted. The kitchen's warm air constricted his lungs, and he shivered as sweat raised goose bumps in the back of his neck. Unaware of his inner turmoil, Bobby looked at him, expectantly. If Dean didn't say something soon, Bobby would begin to wonder at his self-conscious silence.

And suddenly, there it was. A sound unexpected and significant as only true signs were supposed to be. A frigging bird _chirped_. For real.

"Sure." Dean shook his head, forced himself to swallow the last bite and chased it with a gulp of coffee. "That sounds good."

* * *

The Impala rumbled obediently under Dean's deft hands, before shutting down with a gentle purr. He and Sam had stopped by the hospital before leaving town to check on Phoebe, and they had been informed that she was being released that day. A couple of hours later, she appeared through the front doors with her husband right next to her. She seemed hesitant at first, as if the daylight dazed her, but her husband put his arms around her slender waist and encouraged her forward. They shared a look, said something to each other. The siblings couldn't hear them from afar, but whatever it was seemed to give her confidence and she relaxed, the tired lines of her face fading.

When a maroon minivan pulled in the curb, Phoebe's smile was dazzling. An older couple got out of the front doors and let the back seat door open. Phoebe's young daughter jumped out and run to her mother's waiting arms with a delighted squeal.

Dean smiled. Yeah, that was the best part of the job, no doubt about it. It was in moments like that when the darkness dulled into a manageable echo. Glancing at Sam, he found him smiling too.

_Big g__irl…_

His brother loved Hallmark reunions, but this time Dean didn't mind admitting that he was a sucker for happy endings too. Especially when he had done something to make them happen.

Dean's hands found the Impala's ignition before the family started towards their car, in an automatic gesture signaling Sam that it was time to shot a last, longing glance through the window. It was always tricky to find the balance between the elated sensation of pride at seeing people you had saved get their lives back and the feeling of envy for what they had, and Dean had learned to master the time frame. That way, he could leave with a good feeling that would carry on for weeks.

With a sigh of satisfaction, Sam shot a last glance to the rear view mirror and settled. They had said their good-byes to Bobby and packed their stuff in the motel. The open road was all there was in front of them now, and Dean let himself relax behind the wheel to try and enjoy it. It still felt weird to be driving, although it had been therapeutic to fix the fender of the Impala with Bobby by his side and Sam… well, Sam at a safe distance from his baby, sipping beer with a huge grin on his face.

"You know, you don't have to drive all the time." Sam commented in a nonchalant tone.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked distractedly, without tearing his eyes from the road.

"Nothing." Sam shrugged, his lips twitching. "Just… I can drive too if you don't feel like doing it all the time."

"I'm fine." The elder assured.

"I know." Sam nodded. "I'm just saying you don't have to rush it."

Dean appreciated the concern, he really did, and because of that he decided against telling Sam that _yes, he had to_. Dean needed to find the strength to get over the kind of fears that could destroy him, just as he had to get up from bed every morning. It was how he dealt, how he lived. Sam knew it too, and that was why he tried so hard not to push, but to make sure that Dean knew he was there for him.

The older Winchester tossed him a warm glance and insinuated a smile. "You just want to keep picking the music." He said, with mock aggravation.

Sam huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just let me drive when you get tired." He half-concluded, half-challenged Dean.

"Dude," Dean said smugly "It takes only a day to get to Philly. I've done worse than that."

Sam's jaw muscles twitched and he looked away, thoughts closing off so fast it was like a curtain had fallen between them. Dean frowned at Sam's grim expression and kept his attention divided between his little brother and the road. He knew it was better to wait Sam out when he was struggling to say something, although it honestly escaped him what was going on inside Sam's head.

"I didn't mean on the way to Philadelphia." Sam eventually explained, his voice low. "I meant… after that."

Dean's frown deepened as he tried to understand Sam's point.

"Because…" Sam continued. "You're leaving." He fixed Dean a solemn gaze. "Aren't you?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but then closed it with an audible click. Sam's words had thrown him, because Dean hadn't said a word about leaving, had he? During the last few days it had been the hunt and Sam's wellbeing that had occupied his mind completely. Then the peace of getting himself together and the euphoria of a job well done had taken the driver's seat of his thoughts. Dean didn't usually plan things very long-term ahead ―it was totally useless in his line of work― so he had only pictured himself as far as driving back to Sam's apartment, hanging out for a couple of days…

Looking for a new hunt.

The older hunter swallowed uncomfortably when his subconscious betrayed him and proved that his little brother knew him well, _too_ well. Just as Dean could imagine complete conversations with Sam without actually having them, Sam read Dean's vibes before they crystallized into thoughts. His little brother had seen it in him, the itch to get back in the saddle. It had been too long and Dean missed the fight, saving people, hunting things… The family business was a curse, but also a powerful addiction.

Dean missed begin _useful_.

His eyes were guilty as they flickered over Sam's. "Sammy…"

The younger looked sad, but resigned. He gave a series of quick nods, his lips pursed and his Adam's apple working silently.

"It's alright." Sam reassured him. "I'm glad…you know… that you're okay." He produced a small smile. "You should have seen you these last few days, man, you were in your element. Focused, confident."

Dean chortled awkwardly. Unreliable and _terrified_ was a closer definition to his sensations during his comeback, but he understood what Sam was saying. He did feel kind of revived. He was ready to fly. Yet, the kicked-puppy look Sam was struggling hard _not_ to let show was killing him all the same.

"Sam, I…" Dean started, then shook his head, at a loss for words.

What could Dean say? Sorry? That they both knew his stint at normal life wouldn't last forever? That they would keep in touch? It had been hard and lonely beyond belief the first time they had split after breaking Dean's deal. Now, after spending a month back with his brother and having worked shoulder to shoulder with him once more, it was going to tear Dean apart.

"I just…I'm sorry." Sam mumbled, his eyes glued to his lap. "I didn't realize. I didn't mean to hold you back."

Dean's eyebrows shot up and he did a double-take, totally floored by his little brother's words.

"What?" He asked stupidly.

Sam seemed ready to leave things like that, but Dean was having none of that. This was clearly important.

"Dude, don't be stupid. You didn't hold me back." Dean claimed.

"Yeah, sure I didn't." Sam huffed caustically.

Dean couldn't believe his ears. Shooting a quick look at the mirrors, he considered pulling over to beat some sense into his little brother's thick skull, but the interstate was busy and Sam looked embarrassed enough to bolt from the car the second they stopped.

"Sammy, if it hadn't been for you, I'd be dead or totally insane by now, and you know it." Dean affirmed in unexpected honestly. Maybe it had been a good idea to keep driving, since this way he had an excuse not to face Sam's soulful eyes as he spoke. "I needed to get my head together; I needed to lay low"

_I needed you._

"Just as you need to get back on the road now?" Sam asked gently.

Dean faltered. "Maybe. I don't know." He admitted.

Sam's lips pulled another smile and he nodded soberly. "I understand."

"You do?" Dean shook his head and let out a self-derisive snort. "Because, most of times I don't get it myself."

The younger man chuckled on the passenger's side, and the crystalline sound of Sam's laugh made Dean feel slightly less self-conscious about his piece of confession.

"Yes, I do." Sam repeated. Then took a deep breath before adding, "That's why I'm going with you."

And just like that, traffic or no traffic, they were stopped by the shoulder of the road, engine not even silent yet as Dean turned to Sam with set jaw determination.

"No, you're not." Dean said in a cold tone, his pulse galloping fast.

Sam turned to face him as well, calm and collected, as if he the little fucker had been bracing himself for the discussion that had caught Dean by surprise.

"Dean, I want to hunt." Sam said gravelly.

The nervous flutter inside Dean's stomach didn't help soften his retort.

"No, you _don't_" Dean growled.

Sam arched an amused eyebrow at him, but the gesture only incensed Dean, because he didn't find anything remotely funny about the situation. Sam had almost died on him only two days ago and had been suffering horribly before that. The way his little brother had come undone in his arms still made Dean's skin burn and his screams of agony throbbed around the pit of his stomach. _Make it stop_, Sam had begged him. And Dean had done and would keep doing exactly that even if it was the last thing he did, as the sole idea of putting his sibling even remotely close to danger was, at the moment, more than Dean could stand.

"It's not safe, Sam." Dean pushed fervently.

"It is as safe for me as it is for you." Sam argued.

"No, that's not…" Dean paused, swallowing his trepidation down. "Listen, I know I freaked you out the other day, but I'm fine, alright?"

"It's not about you. Well, not _only_." Sam denied.

"Then, what it is now? Dad?" Dean demanded.

"Dad?" Sam gave Dean a puzzled look. "What does this have to do with-"

"You said you saw him while you were under the furies' spell" Dean reminded him. Sam flinched and a pang of guilt seized Dean as his little brother's eyes shadowed, but Dean pushed his regret away. "And, Sam, the only thing 'Dad' could possibly try to make you feel guilty for is you quitting, leaving our backs unprotected and that kind of crap."

The awkward manner Sam averted his eyes told Dean that he had hit the nail on the head.

"Well, it's not like that, okay?" Dean assured Sam. "Mom and Jessica's killer is dead. And you don't have to drop everything because you think you need to take care of me. I don't…" He closed his eyes briefly. "I _can't_ let you do it."

Sam's eyes wandered around the interior of the car, landing anywhere but on Dean, his face a parade of battling emotions, from frustration to remembrance, defiance and love. The latter was probably the only reason why Sam managed not to snap at Dean's attempt to decide what was best for him. In that department, Dean wasn't much better than John sometimes.

"Dean." Sam sighed, still contained. "This 'everything' you say I shouldn't drop… it's not my life. Not really. Never has been." He shook his head wearily. "I know what you're trying to do, and I appreciated it, but I don't belong there. I can't. After all I've done, the thought of people dying while I…what? Revise class notes? I can't do that." Sam glanced at Dean shyly. "Now, _this_ feels good. That woman going back to her family was worth it, you know?"

Dean was too stunned to respond. Sam was basically telling him that he wasn't happy at college. But he had never really been happy on the road either, had he? When Sam's hazel eyes pinned him in quiet expectation, Dean realized that he didn't know what Sam wanted from him anymore. And that was his biggest failure, because Dean would give his little brother anything, if he only knew _what_ it was he needed.

"So you want to atone, is that it?" Dean asked carefully.

He didn't need the memory of what the furies had done to them to understand the need to make up for the bloodshed and the lives lost, but that was a kind of guilt-fueled resignation he had never wanted to see in Sam's eyes. If Sam wanted in, it had to be for the right reasons, not because he felt he had to.

"There hasn't been a single moment in Philly when I didn't feel I should be somewhere else." Sam said bluntly.

Dean frowned at Sam's admission and felt a spike of guilt flaring inside him.

"Sammy, you love your...school stuff, come on!" He defended. Because in no way was Dean going to let Sam believe he had pushed him away and into something he didn't think Sam would enjoy, out of spite.

"I do love it." Sam admitted and Dean released the breath he had been holding.

At least he hadn't screwed it up that bad.

"But it's hard to take seriously...I don't know, legal procedures for a mortgage transfer in Pennsylvania when I know that people are dying out there, Dean"

"No, that's not fair." Dean refused.

Even if he recognized the argument. Even if Dean himself had been crushed under its finality before the grave of his dead father in his fantasy world, he wouldn't let Sam follow the same path.

"People die all the time, in ways as gruesome as they get. Are you telling me that anyone who isn't a soldier, or a doctor or a...freaking lifeguard isn't entitled to have a life without feeling guilty about it? Dean challenged.

"Except, I _am _a soldier, Dean." Sam gritted out.

"You didn't choose to be one…" The older retorted.

"Not the point."

"...And even if you had, soldiers can take leaves. You should have the right to walk away" Dean remarked.

"You're not listening to me." Sam said, frustration rising in his voice. "I _can't_ do that."

"Bullshit, you're doing just fine." Dean reacted to Sam's irritation with a defensive tone of his own. "You're acing your tests and you've got friends backing you up. Josh..."

"That's exactly what this is about!" Sam exclaimed, cutting Dean off. "It's about Josh and protecting all the people like Josh. With what we know..."

"Oh, _please_." Dean huffed. "Cut the Spiderman crap."

"But it's true!" Sam cried. "Lots of times it sucks, it really does. But then, other times it just... everything clicks right into place, you know. And it feels...It feels so damn _awesome_."

Dean's pulse accelerated and his stomach rolled, slightly drunk with cautious hope. He heard Sam. Dean simply didn't dare to believe him. The way Sam talked, the look in his eyes… Was it possible that they were on the same page at last about what being a hunter was really about?

"Please, Dean." Sam asked in overflowing earnest. "You promised that if it didn't work, we'd find another way. And it's not working. Not for me."

_Not alone._

Dean swallowed hard and looked away, his hand itching to grab de door handle and exit the car to breathe and think for a second, without Sam's open emotions and his own responding and in the way. But he couldn't run from his own words.

He was back at the same old crossroads. He wanted to take Sam back so badly, and yet he was scared that his brother would change his mind and break his heart all over again. However, no matter how much his heart ached for the reassurance, Dean couldn't demand an iron-clad commitment from Sam. "_If you're in, you gotta be for good_" was as bad as "_If you walk out of that door, don't you ever come back_" and that wasn't them. Maybe their relationship along the years hadn't been perfect. Sometimes it had been tense, rough and fragile as cracking glass. But the only thing they could do was to keep trying and find their own way.

When he looked at Sam again, the younger man was staring at his hands, worrying his bottom lip with an anxious expression. The need to make Sam happy no matter what kicked in, overriding Dean's own walls of self-preservation. That was the part Dean did for Sam.

"You're still finishing the semester, you hear?" Dean allowed in a husky voice.

Saying yes and seeing Sam smile was all for himself. Maybe they would get it right this time.

**THE END**


End file.
